


Don't You Hear that Rhythm

by secondstar



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Airplane Sex, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Music, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Blow Jobs, Depression, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Musician Derek, Musician Stiles, Musicians, Phone Sex, Rough Sex, Safer Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sharing Clothes, Tour Bus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-08
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-04-25 09:24:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 49,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4955014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secondstar/pseuds/secondstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being the opener for Blue Pagan was only the beginning for Marked & Bitten frontman Stiles Stilinski. Falling for their violinist, though, felt something more like the beginning of something greater.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic, you guys. I have a lot of feelings about this fic and I'm only a few chapters into writing it myself. I can't hold off in posting it any longer, because I'm that excited. My feelings are reminiscent to Versus, in that I have a lot of attachment to many facets of this fic. 
> 
> That being said, I want to thank my betas: becky, lauren, & beth! Special thanks to Jinxy and Kim for being excited about this AU with me. 
> 
> I'd been wanting to write a Band AU for years, but never got around to it. I'm so glad I'm doing it now. 
> 
> This fic is _based loosely_ on the RL relationship of Olly Alexander (of Years  & Years) and Neil Amin-Smith (of Clean Bandit). All quotes used from real articles will be linked to appropriately. 
> 
> the amazing Cofie did fanart of [Derek for this AU!](https://twitter.com/Cofie_chan/status/650353500052922368) I'M IN LOVE WITH IT!!!! /swoons
> 
> rating will go up as fic progresses :)

_“I’d like to hear a gay artist express their sexuality in a really open way. That’s something I’ve sort of tried to do a little bit on this album, but to be able to talk about sex is possibly new for gay artists. I also believe if you want the world to change, or you want to see social change, you have to be an embodiment of it.” - Stiles Stilinski talking to[Digital Spy](http://www.digitalspy.com/music/interviews/a657111/years--years-interview-its-sad-we-dont-have-gay-popstars-using-male-pronouns.html#~pq3PN1koAKk6nn)_

**Prologue**

Stiles fidgeted as a microphone was clipped to his t-shirt. He watched, his hands shoved under his thighs, as the PA smiled at him before stepping back, finally giving him space. It was a normal day, well, normal since their debut album skyrocketed to the top of the charts not only in the US, but abroad as well. Stiles, the frontman of his band Marked & Bitten, had very little sleep considering he had a twelve hour day ahead of him that consisted of interview after interview. At least he had his best friend beside him, along with a never ending supply of coffee. 

He was wide awake, despite the exhaustion of constant touring and interviews plaguing him. Stiles bent over, reaching for his discarded, almost cold, cup of coffee that he’d set down by his chair. His eyes narrowed as he saw the interviewer with a bowl, full of little slips of paper. It was too early for bullshit interview games in his mind, but he plastered a smile on his face all the same. 

Marked & Bitten consisted of Stiles, vocals; Scott McCall, bass; Kira Yukimura, drums; and Allison Argent, synths. A synth/electro pop band, Stiles’ lyrics were dark when paired with their upbeat sound, giving them depth despite the fact that their music tended to make people want to dance. Their album was described by many as the type of music one normally wouldn’t like or listen to, but that it was better than expected. 

Stiles was just glad they didn’t flat out suck. In his mind there was always room for improvement, for them to be better live. Record sales, to him, weren’t something that made sense. They were a number, not something tangible he could touch, unlike the hands of his fans when he reached out to them at sold out concerts. Success, to him, was being able to hug his fans when they asked him to, for them to tell him their life stories. He felt connected to them, when they expressed how his openness about being gay lead them to feel brave enough to come out themselves. Stiles clung to that, when he was grasping at something late at night, curled up in his bunk homesick.

“So, Stiles,” the interviewer asked after they played the fish bowl game, which was nothing but superficial questions about what item they’d bring with them to a deserted island or if they had to choose between band members who would be voted off an island. There had been a lot of questions about islands that made no sense to him at seven in the morning. 

Stiles’ attention turned towards the interviewer, who had leaned forward in the way that Stiles knew well: it was time for the personal questions. They always came out, no matter how many times he’d discussed his being openly gay. It was like it was the only thing about him that mattered. Stiles sat up straighter, his hands hanging limply in his lap. “I’m dying to know about your relationship with Derek Hale, can you tell us any juicy details?” 

Stiles was hoping for at least something tactful, but of course they went for the word ‘juicy’. He tried not to cringe as he smiled, looking down for a moment. He didn’t look at Scott, whose demeanor shifted. Stiles didn’t mind talking about Derek, they were open about their relationship, but privacy was still a thing he wanted to maintain on some level. 

“Derek and I have been dating for about a year now,” Stiles said, a real smiling showing through as he rubbed at his thighs subconsciously. 

“That has to be rough, with the different schedules,” they said, prompting him to continue. 

“It’s hard, you know, what with us being on separate tours, but we make it work. There are things we can’t do, we don’t have a normal relationship. We can’t do what normal couples do, there’s no ‘Netflix and chill’, or simply hanging out. We have to make time to see each other-- which we do as often as we can.” 

“You’ve got quite the online following, fans who would be upset if you ever broke up. How do you feel about that?” 

Stiles couldn’t help but laugh, running his fingers through his hair as he thought about it. 

“I think it’s great that we feel like we can be open and share, you know, online, but we can’t think about the status of it. To us, this is our life, you know? We can’t think of it that way because that would be damning, in a way, I think.” Stiles fell quiet, then. 

With that, the topic of conversation shifted, giving Stiles a moment to recover. His heart rate always picked up a little bit, when asked about his private life that wasn’t so private. It was a fine line, being in an open relationship, laying it out for the world, but he didn’t want to hide. He’d done it all his life, and for the first time he was free. 

**Chapter One: One Year Prior**

The club was packed for a mid-week gig, with three bands on the docket for the evening. Derek Hale sat at the bar, nursing a beer with his back to the stage, enjoying the show from afar. He was enjoying the time to himself, despite being surrounded by people. It was a rare thing nowadays, having the time to do as he pleased. He’d slept in, despite his roommate’s best efforts, practiced music by himself, had dinner with his sisters, and now had an evening of live music to help him get through the night. 

The stage itself was small, the hole in the wall club was a dime a dozen in the depths of NYC. Someone bumped shoulders with him, grabbing his attention. He was bombarded with a face full of blonde hair and bright lipstick, and a low cut tank top. 

“Erica,” Derek said, giving her a once over. 

“Derek,” she said, taking his beer and drinking from it. He didn’t even try to stop her. “Fancy seeing you here.” Erica was the lead singer of the band he was in, Blue Pagans, who just had their first number one single. They were on a short break before they went on tour, and Derek definitely hadn’t expected to see her. He looked around for their other band members, Isaac and Boyd. They were nowhere in sight. “I’m alone,” Erica said, patting Derek’s shoulder. “Came to check one of the bands out.” 

“In tonight’s lineup?” Derek asked, twisting to look at the stage. They had to speak loudly in order to hear properly, the music was blaringly loud. 

“Friend of a friend told me to check out Marked & Bitten,” Erica said into his ear. Derek smirked at the name, his own mind thinking back to nights of lingering kisses and naked skin. It was a visceral name, something that could easily elicit a reaction; catchy in a way. “They’re supposedly aces.” 

Erica finished off Derek’s beer for him before disappearing into the crowd, getting closer. Derek stayed back, ordering another drink while the first band got off the stage and the second began to set up. He made his way closer, lingering near the wall, intrigued. He spotted Erica in the crowd, her hair and mid-drift easily found in the mass of bodies. Derek leaned against the wall, getting out his phone, checking Twitter for kicks. He found social media, Twitter and Instagram mostly, a riot. He liked looking through his band’s tags, at the photos people tagged him in on Instagram. It was a distraction, something to do before the next band started. 

The lights dimmed, the stage blank before the band came out. The band members, two women and a man, came out, walking towards their instruments in the semi-dark before the singer appeared. As the music started, they were cast in silhouette, the haze adding effect. The production value screamed indie band, but didn’t take away from the sound as the first song got into full swing. They were definitely synth pop, electronic sounding, but what stood out was the singer’s voice. Still in semi-darkness, the song building with each line, the singer clutched at the mic stand, his eyes obviously closed. 

Derek couldn’t take his eyes off of him as the lights came up, the sway of the singer’s hips as he took the wireless mic off the stand, moving it to the side as he began to move, working the crowd. Entranced, Derek all but forgot about the beer in his hand. By the time the first song ended, he was enraptured by the sight before him. He took out his phone, recording a bit of it. 

The sets weren’t long, around thirty minutes each, and before Derek knew it, he watched the band start to tear down their set up. Erica appeared by his side, grinning as she looped her arm in Derek’s, tugging him away from the wall and talking, though he couldn’t hear her. 

“Allison told me she put my name on the list, so we can go backstage,” Erica said as they headed towards the green room. It would be a shitty room, with a couch that had questionable stains on it, along with day old coffee. Derek remembered the green room’s they used to frequent. The only word he would use to describe it was ‘shithole’. 

“Erica Reyes,” Erica told the bouncer that stopped them before they headed towards the back. “Plus one.” He gave Derek a once over, sizing him up. Derek wanted to roll his eyes over security guards acting bigger than they really were when given a little bit of authority. Someone had to keep the crowd in line, though. 

“Are you Erica Reyes?” Someone asked, coming up to them. They looked at Derek, too, their eyes widening. “And Derek Hale? Can I get a picture?” They asked, holding out their phone. Erica smirked, throwing up a kissy face and a wink as she put her arm around the fan. Derek had to be dragged over, though he gave in easily and put an arm casually around her, lifting an eyebrow as a photo was taken. 

The security guard finally let them in. Derek was right about the green room, and the couch, which was occupied by the singer he’d just been infatuated with on stage, his leg draped over the armrest as he leaned against someone else, the two of them both on their phones. 

“Erica!” A girl said, pulling Erica in for a hug. “I’m so glad you could make it.” Derek could only assume it was Allison, who had been on the synths minutes before. 

“You guys were great,” Erica said, looking around the room. “Wicked good.” 

“Thanks,” the singer said, standing up, slipping his phone into his back pocket. He had a wide smile on his face. “That means a lot.” He reached his hand out to Erica. “I’m Stiles.” 

“Erica,” she said. “This is Derek.” 

“Right, yeah,” Stiles said, taking Derek’s hand. “This is Scott, Scotty get up, man.” Scott, the bassist, stood up belatedly, but had the biggest smile on his face. 

“I’m Kira,” the fourth said, appearing after walking out of the bathroom. Derek shook her hand, too. “You’re the violinist for Blue Pagans,” she stated. Derek lifted his eyebrows. “You’re pretty good.” 

“Thanks,” Derek said, giving Erica a look. 

“So, drinks?” Erica asked, clapping her hands together. “I know just the place!” 

The place, it just so happened, was around the corner from Derek’s apartment. They were crammed in a booth that was supposed to seat four, but somehow they had six. Kira sat on Scott’s lap, with Allison on the other side. Erica shared with Scott and Kira, while Derek sat at the end of the booth next to Stiles. Derek could barely hear, but all he knew was that Stiles laughed loudly, flailed a lot as he talked, and kept shooting him looks throughout the night. 

They got drunk, with Erica ordering round after round for them. By two, they were stumbling out of the bar with Stiles holding Allison up, his fingers linked with hers. A pang hit Derek, the knowledge that they were probably paired off with Scott and Kira, Stiles and Allison hitting him like the force of a mack truck in his alcohol addled. Stiles gave Derek another once over, grinning as he bumped his head against Derek’s shoulder in a goodbye. 

“Tonight was fun,” Stiles said, biting his lip. Derek got lost in Stiles’ eyes for a moment before blinking, clearing his head. 

“Yeah,” Derek said. “It was.” 

He stumbled back home, alone. Usually he picked up someone, was known for his one night stands. He was too drunk anyway to get it up. Unconcerned, he passed out, pushing back thoughts of Stiles. 

-

“I’m sorry, what?” Derek asked. He was sitting, thankfully, his eyes wide as their manager told them the news: Marked & Bitten would be joining Blue Pagans on their upcoming tour as the opening act. 

“Their sound really compliments Blue Pagan’s, it’s a good match,” they said. Derek sat there, face blank, in shock. It had been only a few days since he’d seen them live, and though he had a lot to do before the tour, his mind had been thoroughly occupied by Stiles. Derek looked to Erica, who was admiring her nails with a smirk on her face. 

“You knew?” He asked. “The other night, you knew they were going on tour with us.” It was a statement, not a question. Erica winked at him. 

“This is going to be fun,” Erica said. Derek was done for. 

Contracts were signed, luggage was packed and stowed in the bus, his iPad fully charged and packed full of new audiobooks. Derek spent a lot of time in his bunk watching Netflix, or lounging with his headphones in while listening to audiobooks to pass the time on the bus between gigs. The tour would last a month, traveling around the US playing at rather small venues. Those were Derek’s favorite. Blue Pagan had done a stint opening for U2 for a while, but he preferred smaller intimate crowds. Marked & Bitten were on another bus, but stopped at the same places as them to eat while they travelled. 

Derek found himself unable to handle simple conversation topics with Stiles, his normal casual demeanor completely failing him. Instead, he tended to scowl, his brow furrowed. Stiles simply overlooked him, laughing with the rest of the band as he sat next to Derek in a booth. They were at a shitty, rundown just off the highway mom and pop diner with too greasy food and cheap beer for one in the afternoon. All Derek could think about while conversations went on around him was that Stiles’ leg kept brushing against his as Stiles swayed them back and forth beneath the table. He never stopped moving, his fingers always tapping against something, legs moving, foot constantly moving up and down. Derek wanted to put his hand on Stiles’ knee to still him, but the thought of touching him made his palms sweat. 

“Do you want a fry?” Stiles asked, offering one to Derek. 

“No,” Derek said, looking down at it, perplexed. 

Stiles ate it, shrugging. “You were the one staring at them,” he said simply, putting a line of ketchup across the length of another french fry before eating it. Derek was entranced by the movement. Stiles did it again, his eyebrow lifting as he caught Derek’s eye, eating it. “Still staring,” Stiles pointed out. 

Only then did Derek look away. 

Once they were back on the bus, Derek stayed in his bunk. 

They got to the venue around three, with enough time for both bands to sound check before wandering off to find food before the doors opened. 

“I want something that isn’t drenched in grease,” Allison said as the group of them walked down the street together. Derek didn’t have a preference what they ate, though something that wasn’t fried would be good. 

“I’d be game for some sort of Asian cuisine,” Stiles said. “Thai, or maybe Indian.” 

“No Indian, you always get the spiciest, then your voice is shot,” Scott pointed out. Stiles made a noise, his face set in a frown. 

They ended up at a Greek restaurant, which seemed to please everyone. Derek got stuffed grape leaves and kabobs, his stomach sufficiently stuffed. Stiles, though, barely ate anything because he got a phone call in the middle of the meal. He went outside to deal with it. Derek watched him pace back and forth, the table quiet without Stiles there. 

“They’re fighting again,” Kira pointed out. Who ‘they’ were, Derek could only guess. Significant other, most definitely, but that was all he could guess. It settled his stomach, knowing that Stiles was unreachable, in a way. He got a to-go box for him, piling his food into it while everyone else paid their tabs. Derek bought Stiles’, though he was sure Scott would have gotten it for him. 

Stiles started walking a ways behind them, as if used to doing so, like this was a common occurrence. When Stiles hung up, he jogged forward, joining the group. 

“Here,” Derek said without preamble. Stiles looked taken aback, slipping his phone in his back pocket as he took his box of food. 

“Oh, thanks,” Stiles said, opening the box so he could get to the half eaten gyro. Derek knew it wasn’t any of his business, the fact that he just heard half of a conversation he had no right to hear. If Stiles’ eyes were a little wet, it didn’t matter. Derek could ignore it. 

Derek watched Stiles’ set. He’d be lying if he said he watched anyone else on the stage, so he didn’t even try to kid himself about it. He watched from backstage, with Boyd next to him, recognizing some songs from the other night, along with from the sound check earlier. 

“They’re pretty good,” Boyd said beside him. Derek nodded his head, unable to take his eyes away from Stiles as his hands made gestures that went along with the music as it climbed higher and higher. His eyes were closed, the mic in it’s stand as he sang into it, pouring his emotions into the song. It gave Derek goosebumps. 

It was going to be a long tour.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought about telling you guys which Years & Years songs I listened to while writing each chapter, but really it's just the entire album. If you haven't listened to Communion yet... you should. Ahem. 
> 
> I hope you like chapter two!! the more I think about this fic the longer and longer it becomes in my head, so there's that. 
> 
> I can be found on tumblr @attoliancrown <3
> 
> (warning: there are mentions of stiles in another relationship in this chapter)

“Well. It’s about the idea of unrequited love, and this feeling that if someone loves you that will make you a better person. And that’s a really fucked up idea. But I think it’s something a lot of people get themselves into believing. This idea that you need someone’s love and attention to feel worthy. And a lot of the album was written about that.” -Stiles Stilinski, [PopJustice](http://www.popjustice.com/articles/olly-alexander-interview-im-a-convincingly-happy-human-being/137118/%0A)

Stiles wasn’t sure what to make of Derek Hale. He didn’t really have time to think, really, but somehow there he was, in the back of his mind late at night when the bus was quiet and dark. He thought about Derek, he thought about how before the tour started he had a couple thousand followers on Twitter and now he was gaining them at such a rapid pace he wasn’t sure what to do. His Instagram account was getting so much attention he was overwhelmed by the amount of ‘notice me’ and ‘I love you’s’ he got with each simple picture. 

It was maddening, in a way, because Stiles had wanted this. He had wanted to be famous, thought he could handle it, but sometimes it was harder to deal with than others. He spent the few hours he had free on the phone with his boyfriend, the latest in a string of them that seemed to treat him like shit and yet he couldn’t stop. He craved the attention, needed to have someone to be with. Being away was the hard part, distance giving him not only a heightened sense of vulnerability, but the fact that he had to hide the endless petty fights that didn’t really amount to anything except leaving him feeling like complete shit with a void in his chest the size of a crater. 

So, Stiles wrote it out. He wrote lyrics on his phone, making notes with timestamps at three in the morning or later, his insomnia getting the better of him. He wrote them on napkins while they ate as a group, surrounded by friends and bandmates. And still, he didn’t know what to think about Derek. Derek, who barely talked to him, who bought him lunch when he’d been on the phone, who got him drinks when he’d run low after gigs, who walked him to the bus when he’d been too smashed to go alone. 

It had only been two weeks, and Stiles felt a tug in his stomach whenever Derek didn’t sit near him at dinner, or the rare day that they all went to get breakfast to soak up the alcohol consumed the night before. He felt tied to Derek, despite never spending time alone with him. 

Stiles was almost positive that Derek wasn’t bi, let alone gay. From what he could tell, Derek didn’t talk up anyone after gigs, usually went straight to the green room, then to the bus after. Sure, he’d sign autographs and take selfies with fans, but never anything more. Isaac was another matter altogether, but Derek didn’t sleep with fans from what Stiles could tell. Stiles wasn’t opposed to it, wouldn’t mind getting a drink with someone and hooking up, but he had a boyfriend. A boyfriend who only called when he wanted to fight. 

Stiles sat in the green room of a club in North Carolina, Cat’s Cradle, which was small, intimate just like every other stop thus far, but nearby to a college campus so they at least had the option of good food. Everyone else had gone out, leaving Stiles alone with his headphones on, curled up as he listened to a rough sample that Allison had put together on Garage Band. Stiles moved his head back and forth along to the music, feeling it wash over him, his hand gripping a pen, hovering over paper, his lips moving minutely as he tested out lyrics without writing them. 

He was disrupted with a FaceTime call. At first, he was positive it would be from his boyfriend, but he was surprised to find it from Derek. With his brow furrowed, Stiles hit accept, sitting up. Derek came into view, giving him a wave. 

“What’s up, man?” Stiles asked, checking himself in the window, making sure he didn’t look a wreck. His hair was unmanageable, as always, but besides that he looked like he normally did. 

Derek was inside a restaurant, Stiles could tell by the noise, and the fact that Scott’s hand appeared, putting bunny ears behind Derek’s head. Derek didn’t even bother to swat Scott’s hand away. 

“Thought I’d let you look over the menu so we could bring you back something,” Derek offered.

“Oh wow, man, that would be great,” Stiles said, touched that Derek even thought of that. He knew that Scott could order something for him, he knew what he’d like, but getting to look at the menu would be even better. 

Derek put his phone close to the menu, skimming it slowly down the laminated paper so Stiles could sort of read it. 

“Alright, I found it,” Stiles said, grabbing Derek’s attention. Derek’s eyes stood out to him, the multiple colors more pronounced in a way Stiles never got to see considering they were always in dimly lit bars, drunk, or too hungover to open their eyes properly. “I’d like the mushroom swiss burger, fully loaded.” 

“Got it,” Derek said. “I’ll bring it back with us.” 

“Thanks, I owe you,” Stiles said, giving him an awkward wave before hitting end. He sat there for a moment afterwards, staring at his phone, jumping when it rang again. His stomach sank: it was his boyfriend. With a sigh, Stiles hit ignore, then started writing lyrics down. 

-

Stiles always watched Blue Pagan’s set. Most of the time he watched from the crowd with a beer in his hand, barely being stopped or noticed, getting lost between the bodies. He liked watching Derek move as he played the violin, dancing with Erica between his parts, her tugging playfully at his shirt. It was beautiful and freeing, being able to watch Derek so openly with the rest of the crowd. He knew all of the lyrics, the progressions, by the end of the first week, and he knew that Derek watched their sets as well, though from backstage. Stiles saw him every night, huddled in a corner. He tried not to think about it, about what it could mean because that was dangerous. 

Everything seemed so heavy. He felt like he was at the edge of a cliff, about to either take a step back or jump off of it. They had made a video, not a shitty one that they wish would disappear off the face of the internet, but a real one that had almost a million hits. There was chatter on the internet about them, about how they needed to write an album. They had an EP out, but it wasn’t enough. They were writing, but Stiles knew that soon they had to go into the studio if they wanted to break out. 

It was a lot, and if he thought about that, along with the fact that his boyfriend didn’t want to be out and wanted to keep what they had a secret, Stiles was pretty sure he would explode. His entire life, each relationship he’d had, he had to hide who he was. Not once had he been able to openly kiss his boyfriend in public, or any sort of public display of affection. It was toxic, weighing him down with each step he took. He wanted the freedom he craved. 

Stiles’ phone buzzed in his pocket. He couldn’t ignore it. 

Stepping outside into the crisp night, Stiles answered the phone with a sigh. 

“I can’t really talk,” Stiles said, biting his lip. 

“You’re ignoring me,” they stated. “Don’t you miss me?” 

“Of course,” Stiles said, though his voice fell flat. He kicked at the gravel, leaning against the brick building. “Actually, Jake, I wanted to talk--”

“Not that tone, are you breaking up with me while on tour?” He asked. “After I’ve been waiting for you to come back?” 

“Well,” Stiles said, shrugging despite the fact that they couldn’t see him. “It’s not working, is it? It’s like pulling teeth when I talk to you. If we aren’t fucking, we’re fighting.” 

“Whose fault is that?” Jake asked. 

“Don’t put the blame on me,” Stiles said. “Tell me honestly if you’re happy, because if you’re happy then-- fuck it, I’m not fucking happy, Jake.” 

“Did you cheat on me?” Jake asked. Stiles scoffed, hanging up the phone. He slid down the brick wall until he was squatting, putting his hands over his head so he could breathe. It wasn’t about Jake, it was about everyone before him, too. There was a certain sort of truth, that if a relationship started as a casual fuck while seeing other people meant that if the relationship became monogamous there was always a seed of doubt planted in the back of the mind that, when spurned, wrath came out in the vein of infidelity. Stiles laughed back tears, thinking about how he hadn’t cheated, but he’d been cheated on. He knew that Jake had been cheating, but he’d pushed it aside because he wasn’t around. 

“Fuck,” he said, taking a breath. “Fuck.” He closed his eyes, his hands shaking. Jake, Colin, David, Matt-- his laundry list of exes flooded into his mind, suffocating him. What he needed was something casual, something with no strings. Relationships where he had to hide weren’t good for him. He was done with them. At least with one night stands, he didn’t need to hide anything. 

Stiles calmed down enough that he stopped breathing heavily, breathing in now through his nose and out through his mouth. The door opened and he looked down at the ground, sniffling. He couldn’t even look at whoever had emerged. 

“Stiles?” 

It was Derek, of course. Stiles laughed, rolling his eyes at himself. His phone rang and he dropped it to the ground. Jake’s name flashed across the screen and he kicked at it. Derek picked it up, rejecting the call then pocketing it without a word. 

“Come on,” Derek said, offering a hand. Stiles took it reluctantly, allowing Derek to pull him up to stand. 

Stiles tried not to think about the fact that he was single, that he thought that he’d be okay with it as they walked towards the buses. He cleared his throat, wiping his face with his shoulder. Still, Derek didn’t say anything as they climbed into Stiles’ bus. It was a fragile thing, the thing between him and Derek. Stiles’ heart was raw, gutted not because he missed Jake, but because he’d miss the idea of what they could have been. 

Derek guided Stiles to the couch; he felt nothing inside except the beating of his heart, his ears felt as though they were filled with cotton balls. He sniffled again. They left the lights off, sitting there in silence. Stiles hated silence, but he didn’t want to talk. Derek didn’t seem too keen on talking either, didn’t even have his phone out as their shoulders touched, Stiles leaning against him for some sort of support. 

“Fuck,” Stiles said eventually, when he realized that he’d broken up with Jake. He leaned forward, covering his face with his hands. He didn’t flinch as Derek put his hand on Stiles’ back, rubbing it gently. Stiles concentrated on breathing, his eyes closing as Derek’s hand swept calming circles over the expanse of his back. He let himself cry in the dark, the tears silently falling. He hadn’t been happy with Jake, though the sex had been great. Stiles reminded himself that Jake was an asshole, that he didn’t need to be treated badly. 

There was a part of Stiles that liked it, though. He was a masochist that way. Stiles sat up, taking a deep breath. 

“I’m okay,” he whispered into the darkness. Derek dropped his hand and Stiles regretted it immediately, the warmth of the touch gone in an instant. “Thanks,” Stiles said, clearing his throat. 

“No problem,” Derek said, handing Stiles back his phone. He had three missed calls. Stiles wanted to throw it. “Let me know if you want me to do anything.” 

“Make me forget him,” Stiles mumbled, half laughing as he ran his fingers through his hair. “I need to forget.” Derek sucked in a breath, holding it in for a moment. Stiles was all too aware of the fact that their thighs were touching, that Derek’s legs were spread wide, their knees touching. Stiles turned so that he was facing Derek, though he could only see his silhouette thanks to one of the street lights outside of the bus. Stiles bit his lip, taking a chance, placing his hand on Derek’s knee. 

When Derek didn’t push him away, Stiles took it as a sign. If anything, Derek leaned into the touch. Derek’s hand slid up his back again. It would be so easy, to lean forward, to kiss him. Stiles closed his eyes, imagining it. He sat back against the couch, Derek’s arm draping over his shoulder. Stiles tilted his head towards him, and Derek allowed him to rest it on his shoulder. He could feel Derek’s breath on his hair. It could be simple, capturing Derek’s lips with his own, but instead Stiles shut his eyes tight, letting his mind wander, his fingers playing with the fabric of Derek’s jeans, picking at the inseam. They sat there for an indiscernible amount of time, both of them jumping when the lights came on and Scott walked onto the bus, his eyes wide. 

Derek stood up, the moment completely broken as Stiles remained sitting, though he pulled his feet up onto the couch, hugging his knees close. 

“Dude,” Scott said as Stiles looked away. “Are you okay?” Stiles watched as Derek walked off the bus, giving Stiles one last look before disappearing. Stiles sighed, licking his lips before answering. 

“I broke up with Jake.”

-

“You need to hook up with someone,” Allison suggested the next day. Stiles had spent most of it in his bunk, wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants until the bus stopped for lunch, and even then he only pulled on a hoodie over his bare chest. 

Stiles snorted, rolling his eyes. 

“Scroll through Tinder tonight during the show,” she suggested with a shrug. 

“I think you mean Grindr,” Stiles pointed out. The table at large didn’t react, though Derek’s ears turned a slight shade of pink where he sat across from Stiles. They were eating Wendy’s and Stiles got a salad because he was already sick of burgers and fries. Derek seemed to have the same train of thought, though, he also had a cup of chili.   
“Do you want your croutons?” Stiles asked him, pointing to the unopened packet. Derek shook his head, tossing them to Stiles before taking another bite of his salad. Stiles ripped them open with his teeth, pouring them on top of his already half eaten salad. “Thanks,” he said as an afterthought.

He didn’t say anything the rest of the meal, focusing on downloading Grindr on his phone. Maybe he did need to get laid. On top of touring, he and Jake had been fighting before he left so it had been a few weeks. For Stiles, that was practically a dry spell. 

Stiles was a late bloomer. He’d been awkward in high school, not really coming into his own until college when he’d come to terms with the fact that he’d grown up watching Disney movies and liked Aladdin and Prince Eric more than Jasmine and Ariel. He’d superimposed the feelings he’d thought he should have on a girl who reminded him of Ariel, because Prince Eric had been his favorite. It hadn’t ended well. 

College left Stiles with a string of hookups, of casual sex and sloppy relationships that weren’t really anything more than glorified booty calls late at night when no one had to see. His sexual awakening did nothing but make him believe the only way to be loved was to be fucked. 

He craved affection, so downloading Grindr in the middle of a Wendy’s somewhere in Oklahoma seemed like the only viable option. Stiles hastily made his profile, adding a few choice pictures from his phone, some more private than others, then put his phone away with a huff. When he looked up, Derek was staring at him. Derek’s eyes widened as if caught. Stiles smirked at him, taking a bite of his salad. 

Instead of getting into their separate buses, they all climbed onto Blue Pagan’s bus to spend the rest of the ride playing games together to pass the time. Stiles almost stayed behind, going back into his bunk, but Erica pulled him along, taking his hand in hers. 

“Come on,” she said. “We’re playing Cards Against Humanity and I have a feeling you’re going to be fucking hilarious.” 

For a while, at least, Stiles was distracted enough to laugh. They were shoved in together, some of them sitting on the floor, with Erica sticking by his side. When he got hot, Derek offered him one of his tank tops, since Stiles hadn’t dressed properly. It didn’t fit quite right, but it was better than sweating in his hoodie. Stiles was able to forget about Jake, about the emptiness inside of him for a little while. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed so hard in his life at some of the answers. 

They pulled into the hotel after dark, everyone piling out and grabbing their luggage from beneath the bus. The first thing Stiles did was shower. It felt refreshing, leaving him feeling even better once he got out. He and Scott were sharing a room, but he was alone with his towel wrapped around his waist as he dug through his suitcase for clean clothes. Stiles smelled his jeans, deeming them still wearable for at least one more night, before putting them on. He was shirtless, still, when there was a knock at his door. 

 

He answered it by opening it wide, only half surprised to find Derek there, his hands shoved in his back pockets, eyes on Stiles’ bare chest instead of his eyes. Stiles smirked, opening the door wider to let him in. 

“Come on in,” he said as he made his way back towards his bed. “What’s up?” 

“Everyone was thinking about staying in,” Derek said as Stiles pulled on a semi-clean shirt. He’d have to do laundry at some point, but he hadn’t quite reached said point yet. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted to go out or not.” 

“Why would I go out?” Stiles asked, he had Derek’s tank top bunched in his hand, about to hand it back to him but something was holding him back from doing just that. Derek shrugged at him, biting his lip. Stiles wanted to bite it. Instead, he dropped the tank top, hiding it from Derek. 

“I don’t actually want to use Grindr,” Stiles stated, giving Derek a look. Derek let out a breath, visibly exhaling. Stiles’ mouth twitched; Derek wasn’t subtle. “But I would like to get off, if you’re interested.” 

“Me?” Derek asked. Stiles nodded his head, but he remained where he was. He wanted to see if Derek would make the move to step forward. “Is that a good idea?” 

“That depends,” Stiles said, taking note that Derek hadn’t flat out refused his offer. If anything, Derek looked like he was about to start striping down to his underwear, if he was wearing any. 

“On what?” Derek asked, taking a step forward. 

Stiles’s smile was predatory, knowing as he mirrored Derek’s movements. “On if you want more than I’m willing to give.” 

They stood face to face, mere inches from each other. Derek’s eyes were on Stiles’ lips, eyelids heavy as Stiles reached out for him, his hands sliding up Derek’s arms, his lips hovering over Derek’s mouth. 

“I want it to not effect the tour,” Derek said, too sensible a thing when Stiles had nothing but desire coursing through his veins. Stiles shook his head, his hands cupping Derek’s jaw, lips brushing his tentatively. Stiles closed his eyes as Derek pulled him closer, his hands on Stiles’ ass. As the kiss deepened, Stiles couldn’t think about the tour, let alone the effect them hooking up would have on it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to some glitch in ao3 tonight, I had to go in and enter in the paragraph breaks. if something looks off, or isn't tabbed correctly let's blame that and the fact that I got out of bed to post this because I FORGOT. so, I'm sorry in advance. 
> 
> note the change in rating & added tags.
> 
> half of me wants to make a playlist for this fic, but I'm not sure anyone would actually be interested in it?

_**[Metro Weekly](http://www.metroweekly.com/2015/09/shining-stars-an-interview-with-years-and-years-olly-alexander/%0A):** You’re adamant about the use of male pronouns in your lyrics. Why is that so important to you?  
**STILINSKI:** Well, just for myself, I wanted to be able to express my sexuality in a way that felt empowering. I’ve grown up listening to women sing about men and men sing about women in this kind of direct, potent way. I wanted to be able to translate my own sexuality — my own experiences — in a song, and be able to say “boy” and “him.” It felt good to do that._

_On a larger scale, we should be having different kinds of relationships and different sexual dynamics represented in popular music. There’s lots of different ones, not just male and female, and I think people are ready to consume that. We don’t need to be force-fed just one dynamic. It’s boring and doesn’t represent the way people are now. I’m not trying to tell anybody how they should write music, or how they need to phrase the lyrics at all. I just think it would be cool if we could see it happen more often._

The promise of what was to come had Derek pressing Stiles against the wall of the hotel room, his hands roaming over his body. The feel of Stiles smiling against the kiss had Derek possessively groping Stiles’ ass as Stiles ran his fingers through Derek’s hair. They kissed until they were gasping for air, unable to stop. Stiles, desperate to continue to kiss, held onto Derek’s jaw, his fingers brushing against Derek’s stubble. Stiles’ body moved against him, sending a shiver down Derek’s spine. 

_I’d like to get off._

It was a bad idea, getting involved with Stiles. If things went sour it would be bad for the tour, but Derek’s mind wasn’t working properly. He’d wanted Stiles since the first time he’d seen him on stage, the way his body moved, how he sang with his heart on display for all to see. 

Stiles’ hand between them, cupping Derek’s erection brought Derek back to the present as he groaned, his mouth trailing down Stiles’ neck, careful not to leave a mark. Stiles bit his lip, looking into Derek’s eyes, his pupils blown. 

“I want to blow you,” Stiles rasped, licking his lips as he slid down the wall, his eyes never leaving Derek’s. Derek wouldn’t say no, didn’t, as Stiles undid his belt, unzipping his jeans. Derek carded his fingers through Stiles’ hair as he dropped to his knees before him.

“Condom?” Stiles asked. 

Derek nodded, unable to find words. Stiles leaned towards the drawers that were within reach, easily finding an unopened box. He didn’t say anything about the fact that Stiles had them to begin with, but it was better to be safe than sorry. 

Stiles rolled on the condom, his mouth open, lips already wet as he stroked Derek’s half hard cock before taking him into his mouth. Despite the thin layer between Derek’s cock and Stiles’ mouth, it felt amazing. Derek groaned, placing a hand on the wall behind Stiles for leverage as he watched Stiles. Stiles’ mouth was wide, sucking expertly, and Derek couldn’t help but roll his hips. 

On his knees before him, Stiles had one hand on the base of Derek’s cock while the other groped himself over the fabric of his jeans. Derek grunted, remembering that Stiles was the one who said that he wanted to get off. He watched as Stiles unzipped his own jeans, jacking himself off as he licked up Derek’s length, catching his breath. Derek took the opportunity to lift Stiles’ chin, effectively bringing him to his feet. With spit slicked lips, reddened, Stiles stood up and allowed himself to be pressed back against the wall with a knowing smirk. 

Derek buried his face against Stiles’ neck as their bodies pressed together, his hand going between them, wrapping around both of their erections. Stiles gasped, moaning as he clung to Derek, fingers grasping at his shirt, his hips bucking upwards as Derek jacked the both of them off. Stiles’ face was flushed, his eyes closed tight as he breathed against Derek’s ear. Their gasps were desperate, heady as they stood there, unable to say anything. Stiles came first, covering Derek’s hand; he hadn’t been wearing a condom. He pushed away from Derek, and for a moment Derek had thought he’d done something wrong, but Stiles merely dropped back down to his knees before him, taking Derek back into his mouth. 

“Fuck,” Derek said. He wanted to put his hand back through Stiles’ hair, but it was covered in come, and Stiles had just gotten out of the shower. “Fuck," he said with a moan as he came, the condom filling up as his stomach clenched. He groaned as Stiles played with the tip of it, sucking and licking at it until Derek couldn’t handle it anymore as he softened. 

“Shit,” Derek exhaled as Stiles sat back, looking smug. Stiles wiped at his mouth, sighing contentedly. 

“That was exactly what I needed,” he said. 

-

Derek wasn’t sure if it would be weird afterwards, but Stiles played it casual. If anything, the only thing that changed was Stiles’ mood. It had lifted considerably, and he wasn’t as moody as he’d been. Scott gave Derek a knowing look when they all met up for drinks, but said nothing as Stiles talked animatedly. It wasn’t a secret, but at the same time it was. Stiles seemed content to keep it on the down low, and Derek couldn’t really do anything but go along with him. 

He didn’t like relationships while on the road because it never went well. The fact that Stiles had even tried to have a long distance relationship while touring gave Stiles all the props in Derek’s mind. Casual hook ups were safer, in a way, because there weren’t emotions attached. Derek held back with Stiles before because getting sex mixed up in the high strung emotions of tour was going to be messy, but it was too late to back out now that they’d started. 

Stiles gave Derek a knowing look, raising his eyebrows at him as he took a swig of his beer. They’d parted ways in the hotel room to meet up with everyone, but Derek found himself drawn to Stiles at the bar. He wasn’t subtle, but he didn’t care. He wanted to kiss him again, to press him into a mattress and fuck him. Derek could only imagine the noises that Stiles would make beneath him, to be able to feel Stiles’ hands on him. 

Derek was so distracted he hadn’t realized that Erica had been trying to talk to him. 

“Did you fuck someone?” Erica asked, leaning in close. “How the fuck did you find someone in town that fast?” Derek merely shrugged in a non answer. His eyes were on Stiles, whose jeans hugged his hips perfectly, his ass distracting. 

The only word Derek could think of was lust. He lusted after Stiles, found his hands itching to touch. Want and need weren’t strong enough words in Derek’s mind as Stiles took Erica and Allison onto the dance floor, dancing between them, his eyes catching Derek’s every so often. When Stiles slut dropped, Derek downed the rest of his drink. Stiles was flirting with him, and no one else knew it. It was a dangerous game, one that Derek was definitely into playing. 

They had a repeat of earlier in the bathroom, with Stiles on his knees in one of the stalls. He’d had a condom in his back pocket at the ready, which had Derek hard within moments. This time, Derek fucked his mouth. Where the first time had been about Stiles controlling the pace, Derek held it as his hand cupped Stiles’ chin, the feel of his cock going down Stiles’ throat had him coming faster than he had in years. Stiles’ thoroughly fucked mouth was obvious, after, but so was Derek’s after he’d returned the favor an hour later in the same stall. 

-

Derek stood, like always, at the side of the stage while M&B played. With his arms crossed, he watched Stiles work the crowd, dancing to the beat of the music, of his own voice as he sang. Sometimes he danced with Scott, or against Scott, or with Allison, but most of the time he stood alone center stage with his legs spread, practically grinding the air. It was obscene and it made Derek think about Stiles on his knees, or Stiles in the shower, or Stiles in a bathroom stall. It was a sight to behold, and Derek couldn’t look away. 

“You’ve got it bad,” Boyd said beside him. Derek hadn’t even noticed that he wasn’t alone. He rolled his eyes, his arms crossed as he continued to watch as Stiles reached out into the crowd. Marked & Bitten were gaining momentum with the release of a new video that they’d shot before the tour had started. Word about them was spreading like wildfire. Derek thought they deserved it. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Derek said, giving Boyd a look. In return, Boyd placed a finger against Derek’s neck. Derek swatted at his hand, but didn’t attempt to cover the mark that Stiles had left there on accident. “Stop,” he chided.

“Erica thought you were finding tail in every city for a bit there,” Boyd said with a laugh. “I said that while that was definitely your style, I didn’t think so this time.” 

“It’s not anyone’s business,” Derek said, raising his eyebrows. “We’re just messing around.” 

“I’m not shaming you, dude, as someone dating a musician: it’s just rough. It isn’t easy.” 

“No one said anything about the word ‘dating’.” 

Boyd dropped it after that, though the conversation hung in the forefront of Derek’s mind all night. 

-

Blue Pagans had a stint of interviews in LA, which wasn’t unheard of. With coffee in hand, Derek found himself being fussed over. While it was for the radio, they had a webstream, so they had to look semi-decent for it. 

Their newest single, Shot through the Heart, was in the top ten, so interviewers frequently felt the need to make punny questions surrounding the name. 

“Has anyone stolen your heart lately?” The interviewer asked Erica. It was old news that she and Boyd were together, but she smiled anyways. 

“Boyd, definitely. We’ve been together for about a year? A year.” Not getting a juicy enough answer, the interviewer turned towards Derek. Normally he’d brush it off, shrug his shoulders and say he was unattached. Instead, he sat there, his cheeks reddening. 

“It’s a bit early to tell,” Derek heard himself say, his eyes widening as he said it. A hand came up, covering his mouth. It was like he didn’t have control of his faculties. He looked to Erica, who looked as shocked as he did. The interviewer ate it up, leaning forward. 

“Tell us more!” She begged. Derek shook his head, clearing his throat. 

“I’m not-- I’m not divulging anything else.” 

“Well, you heard it here first: Derek Hale is off the market, for now.” 

What a disaster. 

-

By the time they got to the gig, Derek had gone through multiple ways that this could pan out. The best scenario was that Stiles wouldn’t hear about the interview; the worst being that Stiles was pissed. Derek didn’t know him well enough yet to know how it would go. 

Of course they rarely had a moment alone, and the green room was no different in LA than anywhere else. Stiles sat on the couch, his headphones on as he messed around on his computer. Derek wanted to talk to him, but didn’t want to bring attention to either of them, so he did sound check as normal, then stayed away as M&B did theirs. 

He didn’t get a chance to talk to him during dinner, since they were surrounded by their friends and bandmates, or in the green room before M&B went on. Derek told himself all through M&B’s set, which he didn’t watch, that it wouldn’t be a big deal, but as the time grew nearer for him to take the stage he still felt anxious. 

M&B came into the green room, sweat covered and exhausted. Stiles sat down next to Derek, their legs pressed together as he drank an entire bottle of water without stopping. He had his arm thrown casually across the back of the couch, though to Derek it was on purpose. Stiles’ thumb ghosted down Derek’s bicep, even though he talked to Scott from across the room. 

“You weren’t there,” Stiles said simply. 

“What?” Derek asked, catching Stiles’ eye. He had to go out on stage in less than five minutes. 

“You’re always backstage watching, and tonight you weren’t,” Stiles pointed out. His back was stiff, Derek noted, despite the fact that he looked like he was simply lounging on the couch. He bit his lip, and Derek couldn’t look away. 

“Derek, did you go to the bathroom?” Erica asked. They broke eye contact. Derek shook his head, because he hadn’t, and he hated when he had to pee in the middle of a set. He stood without preamble, sighing as he ran his fingers through his hair. Stiles’ hand had dropped, and he began peeling the label off the water bottle, his jaw clenched. 

“After, alright?” Derek said. “We’ll talk after.” 

Stiles watched as Derek walked away from him, his eyes closing as Derek rounded the corner. He saw it all in a wall length mirror, and it hurt knowing that now he had to go an entire set thinking something was wrong. 

Derek was definitely off his game. He didn’t miss any notes, he rarely fucked up like that, but his energy was low. He didn’t dance with Erica, didn’t do anything but play his violin, mostly with his eyes closed. He wasn’t feeling the crowd, the vibe. He was lost in his own mind, feeling the music instead of concentrating on Stiles. Stiles, who was watching from backstage with his arms crossed. Derek tried not to look over at him, but he couldn’t help himself. 

It didn’t help him in the slightest. 

Afterwards, Stiles was already on his bus for the night, having gone in early. Derek couldn’t go out there so early without being bombarded by fans, so he sat in the green room and waited. Eventually he took out his phone, mindlessly playing a game until it was time to go. Only, they were driving through the night, so he had to go straight onto his own bus after stopping to sign things for fans and take pictures with them. 

Derek got into his bunk, deciding to FaceTime Stiles. Thankfully Stiles answered, with his headphones in and his hair rumpled from a shower. He looked wrecked, and not in a good way. 

“What?” Stiles asked tersely. It felt like a slap. 

“I wanted to talk about earlier,” Derek said, though he wasn’t feeling the least bit brave about it. He’d rather it be face to face and not on the phone, but as the bus began to move he knew he didn’t have a choice. He watched Stiles roll his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he started with. 

“Sorry for what, exactly?” Stiles asked. Stiles laid on his side, one arm tucked under his head as he held his phone with the other so they could see each other. The bunk was dim, as was Derek’s, but he could tell that Stiles wasn’t in a good mood. 

“I psyched myself out earlier about something, so I didn’t watch your set, and I’m sorry.” Derek took a deep breath, and then another as he waited for Stiles to say something. Stiles bit his lip, looking away from the phone, burying his face in his pillow for a moment. He took his time before he spoke. 

“Psyched yourself out about what?” Stiles asked, his voice small, like he didn’t want to ask it. 

“I accidentally-- in an interview I said that, basically, I was seeing someone.” The corner of Stiles’ mouth lifted, though he wasn’t looking at the phone. “I didn’t mean to--”

“You want it to be a secret,” Stiles stated. 

“Well, we aren’t-- we’ve been messing around, you know? I didn’t mean to make it more than it is.” 

“Hmm,” Stiles said, playing with his bottom lip. “So you like me?” He was grinning. Derek laughed as he nodded his head, relieved. 

“Yeah,” Derek said. “I like you.”

“You like me enough that you accidentally told them you were seeing someone,” Stiles sign-songed. “We haven’t even fucked,” Stiles pointed out. “You don’t know, I might be horrible in bed.” 

“I highly doubt that,” Derek laughed. 

“True,” Stiles said with a sigh. “Because I’m _amazing_. I’m the best bottom to ever-- What, Scott?” Stiles asked, sitting up and taking out an earbud. Interrupted, of course. Derek listened to Stiles’ conversation with Scott, not really caring because Stiles wasn’t mad at him, that he’d missed him when he hadn’t watched his set. That he wanted Derek to like him. 

The tour was already more than half over, but Derek found himself wishing there was more time. Eventually, Stiles came back into view. 

“Sorry about that,” he said. “Where was I? Right. I’m amazing, so you should be really, really sorry for making me cry.”

“You cried?” Derek asked. 

“No,” Stiles said, though Derek wasn’t sure if he was lying or not. “But you can make it up to me by kissing me next time you see me.” 

“Next time we’re alone?” Derek asked. 

“If that’s what you want,” Stiles said.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working on that playlist! thanks for those of you who said you were interested <3
> 
> and thanks for reading and commenting, it means a lot!

_“When I meet gay kids and they know who we are, I remember that’s amazing because literally every gay person in every gay story I knew growing up was doomed to die. There weren’t any positive gay stories and it’s incredible that has changed.”_ -Stiles Stilinski for [GQ UK](http://www.gq-magazine.co.uk/style/articles/2015-09/24/olly-alexander-years-and-years-gq-style-aw-2015%0A)

Stiles sat in a band meeting on their bus, only half paying attention. 

“Stiles, are you even listening?” Allison asked, waving her hand in front of his face. 

“Definitely,” Stiles said, giving her a smile. “Video, being shot in LA over our three day break-- got it.” They were gaining momentum, fast, and needed to put another video out as quickly as possible. Their stint in LA was after the next show, in Phoenix, and technically they had a few days off. That, of course, was subject to change and now Stiles not only had a video shoot, but radio interviews and a small session for youtube to record; just him and a piano. He didn’t have time off, forgot what that was like. 

“Right, luckily, we are barely in it,” Allison said, giving Stiles a look. “Except you.” 

“Of course,” Stiles said. “I have to sing lines over and over again, or mouth them.” Stiles pretended to sing along to one of their songs silently. “See, I’m awesome at it.” 

“Well, you should be on vocal rest,” Kira said, patting Stiles’ shoulder. “You had some vocal fry last night.” 

“There is honey in this tea,” Stiles said, pointing at the cup he held in his hand. “I’m on it.” 

Stiles took a sip, then checked his phone, hitting the top button quickly twice in a row, one to see that he didn’t have a text waiting for him from Derek, and again to make the screen go black. He put his phone down. Derek didn’t need to text him, had no reason to. Blue Pagan had interviews all morning, leaving Marked & Bitten alone for the time being. Once the meeting broke, Stiles went outside, enjoying the sunlight as he took out a book, sprawling on the ground nearby. 

Things were good with Derek. Well, as good as they would get, Stiles supposed, considering they were two musicians fucking around on a tour. There was no label, which Stiles wasn’t used to, and no fucking, because there wasn’t any privacy-- which Stiles also wasn’t used to. Truthfully, Derek gave good head, and they’d managed to make out almost each night the past week, but it all felt rather grade school to Stiles. What he wanted was to be able to kiss Derek in front of everyone. 

Stiles squinted upwards as someone walked in front of his sunlight. Scott stood over him with his hands on his hips. 

“Where’d you get the hickey?” Scott asked. 

“Sorry?” Stiles asked, unclear what Scott meant, considering he and Derek both made sure they didn’t leave any marks where anyone could see. Scott pointed down, where Stiles’ shirt had rode up, revealing a line of hickeys just below his navel. Stiles shoved his shirt down as he sat up, his eyes narrowing at Scott. “Ugh.” 

“Who?” Scott asked, his eyes wide. “Are you hooking up with fans?” Stiles laughed as he shook his head. 

“No,” Stiles said with a roll of his eyes. “Definitely not.” 

“Good,” Scott said, waiting expectantly. Stiles sighed, then bit his lip. He didn’t want to tell Scott in case things fell apart. 

“I’m-- it’s nothing,” Stiles said, even though his stomach clenched, betraying his true feelings. “It’s Derek, we’re just messing around.” 

“I knew it,” Kira said as she joined them, coming around the corner. Stiles glared at her. “You two are obvious, always staring at each other and touching each other-- I’m surprised Scott didn’t realize!” 

“Hey,” Scott said. “I didn’t know.”

“We didn’t really want anyone to know,” Stiles pointed out. “We’re just-- I just broke up with Jake and it’s a rebound.” Another lie. “He’s great, we’re passing the time, you know?” Lies. Stiles wasn’t passing time, he was falling, hard. 

He tried not to think about it. 

“Well, as long as you’re both on the same page,” Kira said. “He thinks it’s casual too, right?” 

“Yeah,” Stiles said, though he wasn’t so sure. 

-

Stiles waited backstage, reading, during Blue Pagan’s encore. He’d watched most of the set, but Derek tended to dance with Erica during the finale, and it was lewd as fuck. Stiles couldn’t handle it, in a way, watching Derek move against her. The audience ate it up, because she tended to show off Derek’s stomach by lifting his tank top, or running his her hands over his biceps. They knew exactly what they were doing in the same way that Stiles knew that when he danced it got a reaction out of the crowd. He just didn’t like getting hard backstage, or watch them almost kiss. 

Stiles wasn’t jealous. 

Okay, he was a little jealous. He ached to be able to dance with Derek openly on stage, to touch him in public, even hold hands. 

“One day,” he whispered down into the pages of his book. He’d been writing lyrics, getting songs ready to show to the band for their first studio album, but the papers were cast aside on the couch, forgotten while he read his book. The green room got louder as Blue Pagan left the stage, one by one giving Stiles a high five as they passed by him. Derek, though, sat down beside him on the couch, but not before moving Stiles’ lyrics. 

“What’re these?” Derek asked. Stiles snatched them away from him. 

“Nothing,” Stiles said. “I mean, they’re lyrics, but they aren’t ready yet.” Stiles could feel his face flushing, could sense Derek’s grin. “I’ll show you when I’m done.” 

“You promise?” Derek asked, leaning forward. Stiles’ eyes were on Derek’s lips. It would be so easy, to kiss him there in the green room. Derek, too, must have been thinking the same thing, because he breathed in, his eyes locked on Stiles’ lips. Stiles licked his, backing away, his face turning away. 

“I promise,” Stiles said, standing up and stretching. “You showering before heading for the bus?” Stiles asked. 

“Yeah,” Derek said. “I reek.” 

“You don’t smell so bad,” Stiles said, winking before heading out to the bus, leaving Derek with something to think about. 

He meandered outside with the rest of the band, who were talking to fans. He snapped pictures with a few of them, but didn’t stay to chat. He was hungry, so he raided their tiny bus kitchen for snacks. When he emerged from the bus, there were still fans waiting. He offered them some of his smartpop popcorn, which they were grateful for. 

Derek showed up behind him, still wet from his shower, with his hair practically dripping, reaching into the bag of popcorn, grabbing a handful. Stiles leaned back against him, seeking out contact. Derek let him, nudging his shoulder. Stiles watched Derek walk towards his bus, his head nodding as he indicated for Stiles to follow. He didn’t hesitate, following Derek onto the bus. Most of Blue Pagan was still in the venue, leaving them alone for the moment. 

Derek reached out for him, pulling him in for a kiss. Stiles let himself be moved, enjoying the feel of Derek taking control, of deepening the kiss almost immediately. Stiles put the popcorn down so he could run his fingers through Derek’s wet hair. The kiss became heated, with Derek’s hands roaming over Stiles’ body. Stiles tugged at Derek’s shirt, gasping as Derek squeezed his ass. 

“Please, can we just,” Stiles said between kisses. “Fuck, can’t we just lie down.” Stiles didn’t care in that moment that anyone could walk on the bus, he wanted Derek, and he wanted him _now_. “Which is your bunk?” He asked, tugging Derek’s shirt off of him. Derek stood there, wide eyed, watching as his shirt fell to the floor. 

“You’re sure?” Derek asked. 

“I’ll come in like three minutes, it’s been that long,” Stiles said as Derek pointed to his bunk. Stiles climbed in, pressing as much against the wall as he could manage. The bunks were tiny, and he and Derek barely fit. Stiles captured Derek lips with his own, his leg slipping between Derek’s as they both began moving against each other. Stiles panted, moaning as Derek slid his hand beneath the fabric of Stiles’ jeans and briefs, his fingers slipping between Stiles’ ass cheeks. 

“Fuck,” Stiles hissed. “Fuck, if you don’t actually-- lube?” Stiles asked. Derek groaned, reaching under his pillow. “You kinky-- fuck,” Stiles said, opening the small travel sized container of lube. “Do you--- do you finger yourself with your bandmates right fucking there?” Stiles slicked up his own fingers, knowing he could be quick to ready himself. 

Derek mouthed at Stiles’ neck, spreading Stiles’ cheeks for him, nodding his head. 

“I’m very quiet,” Derek whispered into Stiles’ ear. Stiles groaned as he sunk a finger inwards while Derek bit him lightly, his tongue lapping at the sting. 

“Well, I’m not,” Stiles said with a laugh. He added a second finger, unable to enjoy it because he didn’t have the time. “Come on,” Stiles said, desperate. “Who knows when we’ll have this chance again.” Stiles heard the sound of a condom wrapper being opened as he turned around in the bunk awkwardly. He’d never had sex in a tour bus bunk before, but so far it definitely wasn’t ideal. Stiles bit back a sob as he felt Derek line himself up. It wasn’t sexy, wasn’t picture perfect as Derek slid into him, holding onto Stiles in any way that he could because of the confines of the bunk. Stiles moaned as Derek thrust into him, his body relaxing. He loved to be fucked, and it had been too long. 

“Fuck, Derek, yes,” Stiles said as Derek covered his mouth to quiet him. Stiles moaned, his eyes shutting as Derek mouthed at his neck, breathing harshly as he fucked him. “Fuck, you feel so good,” Stiles moaned. Derek was right: he was quiet. Stiles was used to screaming out, to moaning with each thrust. He tried to be quiet, but it felt amazing as Derek pushed into him over and over again. Stiles jacked himself off, meeting Derek’s short, hard thrusts each time, moving against him. 

“You’re-- fuck,” Derek said. Stiles’ toes curled as Derek thrust against his prostate, making him cry out. He came, shaking as Derek pulled out of him as Stiles’ ass clenched. Somehow, Derek maneuvered Stiles so that they could kiss. It was sloppy, they were sweaty, and Stiles had drying come on his hand and shirt, but he didn’t care. Stiles’ jeans were shoved down his thighs, and he still wore his shirt. It wasn’t ideal, but they’d fucked, and his ass would feel it in the morning. 

That was all that mattered. 

They continued kissing until it was clear that Derek needed to discard his condom. He left for only a few seconds before returning with a paper towel to help clean up Stiles. 

“My hero,” Stiles said with a sigh as Derek climbed back into the bunk. They kissed again, and again, until Stiles got sleepy. They laid there, in each other’s arms, and Stiles couldn’t help but wish that it was the norm, that he wouldn’t have to move, that they could sleep together. 

His dream didn’t last long as voices filled the bus. Stiles’ eyes opened wide, scared about the fact that there was no turning back; everyone would know. 

“It’s okay,” Derek said, his hand on Stiles’ back, rubbing it. “I’m okay with it if you are.” Stiles let out a breath as he bit his lip. The words were so simple, but had such an effect on him, that he felt his eyes watering. He nodded his head, turning to face Derek so he could kiss him. 

“Yeah,” Stiles whispered. “I’m okay with it.” 

Derek opened the curtains to his bunk, peeking his head out of it. 

“Hey, some of us are trying to sleep, here.” 

“Alright your highness,” Erica said as she came forward, but her jaw dropped when she saw Stiles. “Holy shit.” 

“Hey,” Stiles said, giving her a small wave. 

“You owe me fifty,” Isaac said to Boyd. “I told you they were fucking.” 

“Boyd don’t give him fifty,” Stiles said, his arm draped casually across Derek’s bare chest. “We just fucked for the first time, so if the bet was that we were all along, you don’t get jack shit.” 

The look on all of their faces was priceless. 

Stiles, after grabbing one of Derek’s shirts because his was come covered, made his way back onto his bus without a word. He did groan when he realized he left his popcorn on Blue Pagan’s bus. 

-

It was easier, once everyone knew. Their time in LA flew by, with interviews shoved in between recording the small session and lip syncing to his own songs for hours and hours as he filmed a music video. 

He and Derek also fucked three times, almost all of them in semi-public places. Stiles was pretty positive that Derek had a public-sex kink but he wasn’t complaining about it, not when the sex was so good. Casual sex could be freeing in a way that Stiles knew well, but in the past it was filled with insecurities about his partners and secrecy, whereas with Derek it was fun, without pressure, and most of all it made him feel good. 

Stiles found himself dancing for Derek during his sets, smiling more as he sang, and enjoying himself more than he thought it would when their bands hung out together all day long. No one judged them, no one made them feel bad for it. If anything, Stiles thought Erica was rather encouraging it.  
But with LA behind them, they were on their last leg of the tour with Portland and Seattle left. At breakfast in Portland, Stiles was quiet, pushing his eggs around his plate as he sat slumped over. 

He had on one of Derek’s hoodies, couldn’t be assed to find one of his own, considering he’d slept in Derek’s hotel room the night before. No one complained when he and Isaac switched rooms. Despite sharing a bed, waking up beside Derek, and having had morning sex, Stiles found his mood to be sour. 

Portland, and then Seattle. That was it. It would be over. He pushed his plate away, then bit at his thumb nail. 

“Don’t,” Derek said as he took a piece of Stiles’ bacon. Stiles lifted his eyebrows, about to fight Derek over his loss of bacon, but he didn’t have it in him. He felt the dread of the end of the tour deep with him. It was all encompassing and not even Derek’s arm pressing against his own could stop the feeling taking over him. 

They were eating breakfast, despite the fact it was past noon. He wouldn’t call it brunch, even, but that was besides the point. Stiles’ grits sat, cool and lumpy, untouched. 

“Don’t what,” Stiles mumbled. He was being petulant and he knew it, but he couldn’t stop himself. Derek sighed beside him while the others ignored Stiles. Everyone was tired and a little irritable. 

“We have time today,” Derek said. “How about we go exploring?” He was looking at Stiles and no one else. Stiles perked up, sitting up straighter as he drank his coffee. 

“Like what?” Stiles asked. They hadn’t really had a chance to do anything just the two of them, usually going around the cities as a group. 

“Well, I’ve always wanted to visit Powell’s books. Maybe we can start there.” Stiles grinned, his appetite returning. “We could make a date of it.” At the word date, Stiles leaned over and kissed him. It was on the cheek, and his eyes widened afterwards at the realization that he’d done it in front of everyone, in public. But before he could panic, Derek returned the favor, brushing their lips together for only a moment. It was barely a kiss, but it ignited something in Stiles, a rush that he hadn’t ever experienced that came with a public display of affection. 

It was so normal, in a way, but at the same time it seemed a taboo. Stiles couldn’t take his eyes away from Derek’s lips, his eyes locked on them, along with his days worth of stubble. He wanted to do it again and again, to show the world that he could have what everyone else did. Derek smiled at him, squeezing his hand before going back to eating like Stiles wasn’t having some sort of revelation, a religious experience where he ascended to another plane altogether. 

Stiles finished his breakfast, suddenly more awake than he had been in days. 

-

Back at their hotel room, Stiles showered as fast as he could. They only had a small window of time before they had to be at the venue, since they’d slept in and spent the morning fucking. Stiles still wore Derek’s hoodie as they made their way toward Powell’s. They walked, stopping at a coffee shop. They sat on a couch together, pressed in close, with Derek’s arm draped across the back of it, practically enveloping Stiles. He couldn’t help but lean over, resting his head on Derek’s shoulder. It was everything to him. 

“This is perfect,” Stiles said. They faced a giant window, watching the people pass by without so much as a glance at them. 

“You’re perfect,” Derek said, kissing Stiles’ forehead. Stiles closed his eyes, fighting back a denial. He wasn’t perfect, he was afraid. He was afraid of making an album that could flop, he was afraid of media backlash, he was afraid because he’d been conditioned into secrecy in the public eye. But sitting with Derek in a coffee shop in Portland, it somehow didn’t matter. In Portland, of all places, he knew that in the scope of things it didn’t matter. He kissed Derek on the lips, allowing for it to last. Derek kissed him back, not pulling back or hesitating. Their mouths opened, tongues tangled as they breathed each other in. It was intoxicating. Still, Stiles ached. He wanted more, craved Derek’s touch and found himself drowning in the feel of him. 

With a final kiss, Derek sighed, his fingers in Stiles’ hair. 

“Come on,” he said, standing up. “Let’s go book shopping.” 

-

Powell’s might just be Stiles’ favorite place on earth, as far as book shops went, besides The Strand in New York. He took his time going through the stacks, never more than a few steps away from Derek. Stiles usually went through two to three books in a week, mostly read on his iPad because he couldn’t travel with that many books, but he ended up buying a bag full. He bought a canvas bag with Powell’s written on it, gladly carrying as they walked out the door. Derek had a similar one, just as full as Stiles’. As they made their way back to their hotel, Derek slipped his hand in Stiles’. They walked hand in hand, and Stiles’ heart swelled.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for the lovely comments <3  
> I have so many feelings about this fic and I'm so glad I'm not alone! Also, whoever spots the shout out from Versus gets a virtual cookie. :)
> 
> (also, who has LOVED y&y @ brixton? that toxic video from last night was A+!)

_[MW](http://www.metroweekly.com/2015/09/shining-stars-an-interview-with-years-and-years-olly-alexander/%0A): Did you come out as a teenager or did you wait till later?  
 **STILINSKI:** I didn’t really come out to my dad until I was about 20. I had moved to New York when I was 18, as soon as I had enough money to do that. I talked to my dad over the phone and I told him I was gay, and he was like, “Yeah, that makes sense, that’s cool.” Didn’t really bat an eyelid. Afterwards I felt like I should never have been afraid to tell him, because he’s always been a very supportive, liberal dad. There was no reason for me to have been afraid. I guess that everyone struggles with coming out, whoever you are, but it was a great experience._ \- Stiles Stilinski for MetroWeekly

 

“Thanks so much, Seattle, you guys rock!” Erica said to the crowd. They were in the middle of their last set on tour, and Derek couldn’t believe it had gone by so fast. “This tour has been amazing, and you’re our best audience yet!” 

Derek smiled to himself, because Erica said that to everyone. The crowd swelled, almost deafening. Derek played with his earpiece, glancing backstage where Stiles stood watching. He winked at him before the song started. Derek couldn’t wait to step off stage and kiss him. 

He wasn’t thinking about the fact that it was the last tour date, that they were returning to New York that night, heading straight to the airport after the show. On the one hand he couldn’t wait to sleep in his own bed, but on the other he wished it wasn’t a red eye. He’d rather sleep with Stiles one more time before it was all over and done with. He pushed the thought out of his head, not allowing himself to think of it as finished. He enjoyed himself with Stiles, let himself fall deeper for him, but he took each day as what it was: a tour hook up. He was Stiles’ rebound after Jake and he knew it. They had fun together, fit well together, but he wasn’t so sure that they had a future. There wouldn’t always be together on tour, and two musicians on opposite schedules wasn’t something Derek wanted to fight against. 

Before he knew it, the set was over and they were waving to the screaming audience. Derek jogged off the stage, straight into Stiles’ arms where he lifted him into the air, just out of view to most of the audience, though he was sure that the sightlines didn’t obscure the view from everyone. He kissed him as Stiles clung to him, grinning through the kiss. 

“Get a room,” Erica said as she walked by them, winking and making kissy faces. Stiles flipped her off. 

“I’ve got to shower,” Derek said, his lips still pressed against Stiles. “I don’t want to get on the plane covered in sweat. 

“I don’t want to get on the plane at all,” Stiles whispered. Derek closed his eyes, kissing him once more. “Let’s just stay here.” 

“Seattle?” Derek asked. 

“Yes,” Stiles said, kissing him again and again as the road crew started to dismantle everything. Someone took Derek’s violin from him, freeing up his hands finally. He hoisted Stiles up, holding onto his thighs as Stiles wrapped his long legs around Derek’s waist. 

“Don’t leave me.” 

It was like a punch to the gut, Stiles’ voice, as Derek pressed him against the wall of the stage. Derek kissed him, his mouth trailing down Stiles’ neck as he groped him. He could still hear the sound of the crowd as it dissipated, the thrill of kissing Stiles then and there rushing through his veins. Stiles tugged at Derek’s sweat soaked tank top, gasping as he rut against him. 

“I won’t leave you,” Derek said, taking control of himself as he slowed down. He had to shower; they had a plane to catch. Stiles, with his feet once more on the ground, ran his fingers through his hair. “We live in the same city, after all.” 

-

The plane ride was horrible. Derek hated red eyes. He couldn’t sleep, though he was exhausted, and couldn’t concentrate enough on his book because of how tired he was. He was bored, and Isaac sat next to him, passed out. The cabin lights were out, with almost everyone in first class fast asleep. Derek craned his neck, looking back where Stiles slept with his head on Kira’s shoulder. He could leave him to sleep, knowing that Stiles didn’t sleep well, but he didn’t want to miss an opportunity. 

Derek took the chance, walking as quietly as he could over to Stiles. The flight attendant was back in coach, helping hand out blankets and snacks, or chatting, Derek didn’t know, but he did know that he’d always wanted to fuck someone while in the air. He shook Stiles’ shoulder, putting a finger up to his mouth so Stiles wouldn’t make a noise. 

Confusion crossed Stiles’ features until Derek made a gesture with his hands, making a circle with one and stuck a finger through it with his other. Stiles laughed silently, sticking his tongue against his cheek, nodding his head. 

Derek went in first, then waited for Stiles. About a minute after he went in, the door opened. Stiles, looking sleep addled, smiled as he shut and locked the door behind him. It was compact and cramped in the small bathroom, but as Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles, he didn’t care. They barely fit, their limbs bumping together as Stiles kissed him, holding a condom in his hand. Derek didn’t know where he got it, but he wasn’t complaining.

“Back pocket,” Stiles said as they kissed. Derek slipped his hand in Stiles’ back pocket, squeezing his ass as he pulled out a small travel sized lube. Stiles smirked against Derek’s lips. “Your exhibition kink is going to get us in trouble,” Stiles mused. 

“We could not,” Derek said with a shrug. Stiles scoffed at him, rolling his eyes as he turned Derek around so they were no longer facing each other. A thrill went through Derek as Stiles took charge, shoving Derek’s jeans down his thighs. Derek braced himself by putting one hand on the tiny sink and the other on the mirror. He watched Stiles’ face in it as he opened him up with one finger and then two. Derek was good at being silent, though his mouth hung open as he let out a gasp as Stiles slid into him. Derek couldn’t take his eyes away from Stiles as he watched in the mirror, the look of bliss on Stiles’ face as he fucked him. It felt good as Stiles’ body pressed against Derek’s, his thrusts slow and hard. Stiles put his forehead against Derek’s shoulder, his fingers clenched around Derek’s shirt. 

There was something desperate about fucking while still clothed, trying to keep quiet as pleasure coursed through their bodies. 

“Fuck,” Derek whispered as he pressed back against Stiles. Stiles breathed harshly against Derek’s neck, moaning as his movements became more erratic. Derek took his own cock in hand, jacking himself off as Stiles thrust into him, then stilled, coming. After Stiles pulled out of him, he turned around, seeking out Stiles’ mouth with his own. They kissed sloppily, with barely any room to breathe, let alone move. Stiles kissed him again and again, then once more after disposing of the tied off condom. 

Stiles left him there in the bathroom, to clean up. He locked the door behind him, unable to think about anything except the ache that Stiles left behind, the heady look between them before Stiles walked back to his seat, surrounded by their sleeping bandmates. Derek washed his hands, taking his time before walking out. He sat back down at his seat with no one the wiser. He turned around, searching for Stiles, who was already curled up next to Kira once more, his eyes closed. 

Derek didn’t want it to end, couldn’t think about going back to New York and not have Stiles in his life. He had to make it work, despite their hectic schedules. He wouldn’t let Stiles slip away from him. 

-

Being back in New York was a whirlwind. Derek slept for twelve hours once he’d gotten to his apartment; not even a tornado would have woken him up. His sisters stopped by for dinner, friends texted that they wanted to go out for drinks. His life was waiting for him post-tour but all he could think about was Stiles. Stiles, who also had a life of his own. Tour felt so far away, at that moment. Seattle and Powell’s felt like a lifetime away from where he currently was. His sisters, Laura and Cora, talked nonstop about the family drama that he’d missed, about how he was expected at Sunday dinner. They talked about their significant other’s, Laura’s husband and Cora’s soon to be fiancé. He wanted to talk about Stiles, but there was nothing to say. 

He never told his sisters about his flings. Even thinking the word ‘fling’ soured Derek, leaving him frowning his way through Cora’s tirade about how she didn’t want to have to wait any longer before her boyfriend proposed. It all felt so insignificant, which made Derek feel bad to even think that way. It was Cora’s life, and until that moment he’d been invested in them. He wanted her to be happy, but he couldn’t stop thinking about his own happiness. He deserved it as much as she did. 

So, Derek texted Stiles. It was a simple ‘miss you’. He didn’t think about it as he hit send. The conversation with his sisters continued without pause. When his phone lit up, his stomach flipped. 

_New phone who dis?_ Stiles’ text read. Derek laughed, grabbing the attention of his sisters.

“Who are you texting?” Cora asked.

Derek was too busy grinning down at his phone to thinking, so he answered truthfully. 

“Stiles,” he said, typing out a response. His heart beat faster as he typed out ‘your booty call’ and hit send. “He’s in Marked & Bitten.” 

“Oh, man, I love that song of theirs? That video-- what is it?” Cora asked as she snapped her fingers. Derek didn’t know which song she meant, he hadn’t seen any of Stiles’ videos. “Um, Hold On?” She asked Laura. “The one where he’s shirtless.” 

“What?” Derek asked, his eyebrows raised. 

“Have you not seen it?” She asked. “It’s amazing, just wait.” She took out her phone pulling it up. Derek’s phone buzzed in his hand but he didn’t look down at it, instead he and his sisters were huddled around Cora’s phone while they watched the video for Hold On. Derek knew the song well, knew Stiles’ voice, though he’d never heard it recorded. Stiles was, indeed, shirtless during the opening. His phone buzzed again, and Derek tore his eyes away from the screen. 

_So then call me_ , the first text read. The second was a row of emojis: an eggplant, a peach, a smiley with it’s tongue sticking out, and raised hands. Derek laughed, darkening the screen before his sisters could see Stiles’ lewd emojis. 

“So, Stiles,” Cora said, grinning conspiratorially. “Do tell.”

“We were on tour together,” Derek said, shrugging it off, acting casual as possible. Cora saw through it, of course. Derek was a horrible actor. 

“Uh huh.” 

“It’s not a big deal,” Derek pointed out. 

“He’s a big deal,” Cora said as Laura sipped her wine. “I mean, look at these video hits.” It was a lot, it was a huge amount, even. “Hey, I want to meet him.” 

“No,” Derek said, standing up. “Absolutely not.” 

“I’m going to follow him on Twitter,” Cora stated, doing just that. “And Instagram.” Derek made a face at her. “Aww, look, you’re in one of his Insta pics.” Cora showed Derek her phone. Sure enough, a picture from Seattle, inside Powell’s, showed Derek with his back to the camera. He’d been reading a book jacket, and it was inconspicuous that it was him. He wasn’t tagged in it, and it didn’t mention him. The picture simply stated that Powell’s was the best bookstore on the West coast. Derek grinned, because he knew there was more behind the picture than the caption let on. “I see that look. You’re fucking.” 

Derek pushed her. 

“He should come to Sunday dinner,” Laura suggested. Derek ignored her, instead, typing a response to Stiles’ texts: ‘In ten.’ 

“We aren’t serious,” Derek said when Laura gave him a look because he hadn’t answered her. “And it’s only been-- it hasn’t been that long. I’m not bringing him to meet anyone.” 

“He just updated,” Cora stated. Derek walked back over to her to see. It was Stiles, Scott, and a few people he didn’t recognize. They were all smiling with their arms around each other, with a pub tagged. He was asking to be found. “Someone has plans tonight already.” 

Derek’s hopes sank as his phone buzzed again. 

_Just come to Carragher’s instead_. Derek read and reread the text. It was the pub that Stiles’ was at, which was in Midtown. 

“I’ve got to go,” Derek said. “I’ll see you guys on Sunday.” 

-

Carragher’s was packed, and it took Derek a moment to find Stiles. He was surrounded by people, both friends and fans by the look of it. He had a beer in his hand and his arm around someone as they took a picture. Once his eyes caught sight of Derek, though, he walked away from them, wrapping his arm around Derek like they hadn’t seen each other in ages when in actuality it had only been a day or so. 

“You came,” he said. “Here.” He handed Derek his beer. “You need to catch up.” Derek took it, taking a drink as Stiles took his hand, leading him over to the group of people. Derek drank faster, almost downing the whole thing. Stiles wasn’t sober and they were surrounded by fans and they were holding hands. 

“You guys know Derek from Blue Pagan, right?” Stiles asked them. They all looked star struck as they nodded their heads. “Derek, this is Josh, Lana, and Karen,” Stiles said, pointing at each of them in turn. 

“Hey, guys,” Derek said, taking note that they all noticed Stiles’ hand in Derek’s. He took his picture with each of them as Stiles got them more beer. Luckily, the three fans seemed content after that, leaving Stiles and he to be with Scott and the others. Stiles kept close to Derek, his hand reaching out every so often to pull Derek closer, or almost wrap around his waist, but stopped himself. After a while, once he was buzzed, Derek didn’t care, so he draped an arm over Stiles’ shoulder, leaning on him. Stiles leaned back, his head resting on Derek’s shoulder easily. It was getting late, but Derek refused to leave without Stiles. At last call, they closed out the tab and made their way towards the subway. 

“Mine or yours?” Stiles asked. “Mine’s three stops from here.” 

“Yours, then,” Derek said. They said goodnight to Stiles’ friends, though Scott was still with them. 

“Scotty lives with me, you knew that, right?” Stiles asked. 

“I didn’t,” Derek said. “But I know that now. How’s living with Stiles?” He asked. Stiles was leaning on him, clutching to him as they walked. 

“He’s a mess maker,” Scott laughed. “Doesn’t know how to put dishes in the dishwasher.” 

“Liar,” Stiles said loudly. “He’s lying, I’m a good roommate.” It wasn’t awkward as they got on the subway, knowing that Scott knew what they were going to do. He didn’t seem to mind, not since he knew while they toured. But this wasn’t the tour, this was real life in a way that while on tour nothing really felt real. Tour was transient, was something that started and ended. New York, too, felt like that, but as Derek sat on the subway with Stiles’ hand in his, it somehow didn’t feel so fleeting. 

Their apartment was a fourth floor walk up, and was just as cramped as Derek’s apartment was. Stiles’ room was a mess, having just dumped his luggage on the ground. He laughed as Derek almost tripped over his stuff on the way to the bed that took up most of the room. 

“I haven’t had the chance to unpack and do laundry,” Stiles said as he was halfway out of his shirt, kneeling on the bed. Derek watched him, unable to look away as he kicked off his shoes. Stiles smirked as he leaned across Derek, fishing lube and condoms out of his bedside drawer, depositing them in Derek’s lap then kissing him, holding onto Derek’s face as he straddled him, pushing Derek back against the bed. “You’re here.” 

Derek moaned as he held onto Stiles, his hands resting on Stiles’ thighs as Stiles sucked and licked at his neck. 

“Yeah,” was all Derek could manage. Stiles was in control of the situation, despite his slight intoxication, which set him into a fit of laughter as they tried getting Derek out of his pants while Stiles straddled him. They kissed lazily, messily while Derek’s hands roamed over Stiles’ body, taking his time. Stiles sighed contentedly as Derek rolled him over onto his back, laying his own body over Stiles’ as they continued kissing, slowly moving against each other, the lube and condoms forgotten for the time being. 

Stiles was mouthy, unable to keep from brushing his lips across Derek’s bare skin, his fingers tugging at Derek’s hair as they worked up a sweat. Derek took his time opening Stiles up for him for the first time. He punctuated each thrust of his fingers by crooking them just so within Stiles, making him writhe beneath his touch. 

“Fuck,” Stiles panted against the sheets. “Fuck, please.” 

Derek hummed, but did nothing more than add a third finger, testing to see if Stiles was ready for him. Stiles pressed back against the finger, seeking more. When Derek pulled away, Stiles let out a whine that sounded close to a growl. 

“Fuck me,” Stiles said, turning so he looked back at Derek from where his ass was in the air, legs spread. Stiles’ hands were tucked up under his chest, keeping his back arched perfectly. 

“Oh, I will,” Derek said as he rolled on the condom, stroking himself a few times as he admired the view. Stiles’ mouth was open as he reached between his legs, jacking himself off, his toes curled as he waited. 

They fucked, hard. So hard that Stiles’ headboard hit the wall with each thrust, and Derek was sure that Scott might kill them both. Stiles, for once, didn’t hold back his moans, because he was home. They were in Stiles’ bed, in Stiles’ room, and Derek fucked him into the mattress, holding Stiles down. Stiles pushed against him, smiling as he gasped with each thrust. 

Derek pulled out to change their positioning and Stiles complained once more, panting for breath as he rolled onto his back. Face to face, Derek held onto Stiles’ hair as he fucked him, their mouths hovering over each other. Stiles stuck his tongue out, moaning as Derek thrust into him again and again, hard and fast, his blunt fingernails scratching down Derek’s back. 

“Yes,” Stiles said, seeking out Derek’s mouth. “Come on, you can fuck me harder.”   
Derek wasn’t sure he could, considering, but he damn well tried. Stiles groaned as he pulled out, then shoved his cock back into him, watching it disappear within him, pushing Stiles further up the bed with each movement. Stiles’ hand was around his own cock, his strokes quickening. 

“I’m gonna come,” Stiles said, and sure enough Derek felt Stiles tighten around him. Derek pulled out, jacking off over Stiles’ body as he watched Stiles come, making a mess of his hand and stomach. Stiles’ eyes didn’t leave Derek’s as Derek came, filling the condom with come. 

They laid there on Stiles’ bed, recovering, Stiles pulling Derek closer to him, his fingers trailing lightly over Derek’s naked body, his eyes closed. Derek watched Stiles drift off, wondering if he should stay or go. Eventually, Derek moved, disposing of the condom and washing up in the bathroom. When he came back into the room, looking for his clothes, Stiles opened his eyes and frowned. 

“Are you going?” He asked, his voice quiet. 

“Yeah,” Derek said. “I should get back.” Stiles didn’t look like he was going to protest as Derek pulled on his jeans. 

“You could, you know... you could stay.” Derek had his shirt in his hand, his jeans still unbuttoned. “I want you to stay.” 

Derek dropped the shirt. 

Stiles sat up, reaching out for Derek, wrapping his arms around him as they kissed. 

“You can stay,” Stiles said between kisses. “Please.” 

“I’ll stay,” Derek assured him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! if any of you will be at howlercon make sure you come say hi! I'll be at the writer's round table on friday night, along with hanging around all weekend and I'd love to meet you! OKAY COOL. 
> 
> also, I'm still working on the playlist, but the song that is referenced in this chapter is based on [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=myRBzXZCfno) only picture it played like [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4iOsXdCijTQ). (that second viDEO THOUGH DAMN SON OKAY).
> 
> thanks for commenting & subscribing you guys it really means a lot <3 <3  
> hope you enjoy.

_Stiles attests to being “as personal as possible” in his lyrics, before deeming that “a bit of a weird phrase.” There is a degree of ambiguity he holds dear, but in no way has this been an attempt to keep his sexuality under wraps. That said, I’m interested to see what Stiles makes of the fact that lots of his fans aren’t aware that he’s gay, without anything to document it in the public domain. “No one has explicitly asked until quite recently, which I thought was kind of cool, because either people knew I was gay or it just didn’t matter to them,” he says. “It’s so weird. It’s a really strange thing. I mean, I sort of think, for starters it’s such a personal thing for whoever, in whatever industry. It’s your choice to deal with it however you want to deal with it. I sort of assumed everyone already knew, but then people were telling me that people don’t know until you tell them.”-[Attitude Magazine](http://attitude.co.uk/attitude-interviews-years-years-gay-frontman-olly-alexander/)_

Being in the studio was draining. Stiles wasn’t built for endless days on end recording. Scott loved it, Allison was amazing, and Kira rocked it, but Stiles, well - he was a stereotypical singer who couldn’t keep his attention where it needed to be. He liked gigs, liked live crowds, and he hated singing over and over and over again. They spent days writing, tweaking, rewriting, recording, editing. Stiles barely left the studio, and to his surprise there was fighting. They rarely ever fought, but somehow lack of sleep and Stiles’ constant complaining about the most mundane of things had everyone on a hair trigger. 

So Stiles was sent out for coffee. Grateful to be out of the studio for the time being, Stiles headed for the closest Starbucks. He ordered, then waited, playing on Instagram while commenting on random posts he had been tagged on, until someone called his name who wasn’t the barista. 

Stiles looked up to find someone he didn’t recognize, but he assumed they recognized him. 

“Yeah?” Stiles asked. 

“You’re Stiles Stilinski, right?” They asked, unsure. Stiles knew he looked a mess. He had on a beanie, hadn’t shaved in a week, and probably had bags under his eyes. 

“Yep,” Stiles said with a smile. 

“I love your EP,” they admitted. It was a girl, short, with spiky blue hair. Stiles loved it. 

“Thanks,” Stiles said genuinely. “We’re actually in the studio right now working on an album.” 

The barista called his name, and he went over to grab the trays of drinks that were stacked. 

“Do you want help with that?” She asked. Stiles thought about telling her that it was not a big deal, but he wasn’t so sure he’d make it on his own. 

“Sure,” he said, handing her one. “What’s your name?” 

“Terri,” she said, wide-eyed as they walked out the door together, both of them with a tray full of coffee. 

“Thanks for the help,” Stiles said. The walk to the studio wasn’t long, only a few blocks. Stiles brought her up to meet the band. He introduced them to her, then took their picture with her and let her sit in for a short session. 

She hugged Stiles before she left. He hadn’t felt so good all week. 

That night when he got home, he was so exhausted he fell into bed. His phone was in his pocket, but he didn’t think he had the energy to even pick it up. He missed Derek, a lot. 

Derek, who was in LA. Derek, who he hadn’t seen in over a week. Derek, who he hadn’t slept without since they’d been back in New York. It started off as them fucking late at night and not wanting to go home, but quickly turned into not even attempting to go home, sharing clothes and spending days together. 

It had been amazing, being free and New York being huge and rather anonymous. Stiles had check Instagram, he always did, after their night at the bar to see if anyone knew they’d been together. While the photos surfaced of him and Derek with fans, no one seemed to insinuate that they were together. Stiles didn’t know what to think. On one hand, he wanted the world to know that he and Derek were together. On the other, privacy meant a lot to him, and while he was fine with fans coming up to him in public, if he was out with Derek on a date, he wasn’t so sure. 

Not that they could really go on dates, what with him in the studio and Derek across the country, but that was besides the point. 

As if on cue, Stiles’ phone rang. He groaned, fishing it out of his pocket and hitting speaker as soon as he answered it. 

“Ugh,” Stiles said. 

“Are you alive?” Derek asked, amusement coating his voice. Stiles grunted again. “Good.” 

“I’m so tired,” Stiles said, rolling over onto his back, putting his phone down on his chest as he stared up at the ceiling. “I’m so tired I’m in bed and I need to shower but that might not happen.”

“I feel you. I’m on a break between interviews, wanted to call before you went to bed.” 

“Good thing you called then, because I’m seriously about to pass out,” Stiles said, stifling back a yawn. 

“How’d it go today?” Derek asked. 

“Torture, it’s pure torture. I pass the time by writing, but then I throw everything out because it sucks. I don’t know,” Stiles groaned, tugging at his hair. “When are you coming back?” Derek sighed over the phone, making Stiles frown. 

“Soon, maybe a week. We’re flying to Vancouver to film a video after this.” 

“Fancy,” Stiles said, grinning. Just talking to Derek helped his mood. “Okay, I’m feeling up for a shower. I should go before I change my mind.” 

“My break’s almost up anyway. I’ll try to get you tomorrow.” 

“Alright,” Stiles said, biting his lip. “I’ll-- I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” 

“Get some rest, alright?” Derek said. Stiles nodded his head as he sat up. 

“Night.” 

Stiles sighed when he got off the phone with him, groaning as he ran his hand over his face. He wanted Derek to be back, and he wanted this damn album to be finished. Stiles got up and showered, then fell into bed. 

-

They texted all day long, talked on the phone when they could, FaceTimed as much as possible, sometimes when they were walking down the street or when the band took breaks between recording. Days bled into each other and Stiles couldn’t tell anyone what day of the week it was anymore. He wrote furiously, scraping lines, adding verses, changing the order of the lyrics. He sat curled up on the couch in the recording studio. He heard the door open, but thought nothing of it until a coffee was put in front of his face. He looked up to find Derek, holding a tray of coffees in his hand. 

“Oh my God,” Stiles said as he took the coffee, elated to see him when he wasn’t due in for another two days. “What--”

“Surprise,” Derek said, leaning over and kissing Stiles on the lips. Scott and Allison grabbed the coffees from Derek, thanking him profusely for them. Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek, tugging him down onto the couch. 

“What are you doing here?” Stiles asked, kissing him again and again. “You’re supposed to be in Vancouver.” 

“I wasn’t needed anymore,” Derek said, letting Stiles kiss him over and over. “Violinist playing the violin is very mundane, you know.”

Stiles scoffed, making Derek grin. 

“How’s it going in here?” Derek asked. Stiles groaned, pressing his forehead against Derek’s for support. “That bad, huh?” 

“Take him home,” Scott said. “We’re just going to be producing the rest of the night.” 

“You sure?” Derek asked. Allison, her eyes wide, nodded her head over and over. 

“Please take him,” she said, half kidding. 

Stiles would be hurt, but he wanted to get the fuck out of the studio. He grabbed his coffee, along with Derek’s hand, and lead him out of the studio. Once out onto the street, Derek’s arm was around him, and he couldn’t be happier. Stiles sipped his coffee, content to walk with Derek down the street towards the subway. They stood close, unable to take a step away from each other. It had been too long, and Stiles was touch starved. They didn’t kiss, but he wanted to. Instead he smirked at Derek as he sipped his coffee, his hand slipping into Derek’s coat pocket. 

They went to Stiles’ apartment, which was somewhat cleaner than it had been since the last time Derek had visited. They fucked on the couch because no one was home and they were desperate. After, they moved to Stiles’ bed, where Derek curled around him as he sat at the foot of his bed where he had a keyboard set up. Naked, Stiles played around, humming a tune while Derek kissed his back, his arms wrapped around Stiles. Stiles bit his lip, sighing as he thought about telling Derek a secret. 

“So, I wrote a song for the album,” Stiles said, his fingers sliding across the keys, going back and forth as he played. He didn’t look at Derek as he kept playing. 

“As one does when they are in a band,” Derek pointed out. Stiles laughed, though he blushed. Derek sat up, putting his chin on Stiles’ shoulder, resting it there as Stiles hummed as he continued playing, his heart beating faster and faster. 

“Well,” Stiles said, taking a deep breath before continuing. “This one is about you.”

“About me?” Derek asked. Stiles nodded his head, rocking back and forth slightly as he got up the nerve to play it. “Can I hear it?” 

Stiles turned his head, eyeing Derek for a moment before leaning forward, kissing him. 

“That depends,” Stiles said, his eyes on Derek’s lips. “On if you’re my boyfriend, or if we’re still just fucking.” 

Stiles stopped playing, putting his hands in his lap. Derek took one of Stiles’ hands into his own, then brought it up to his lips, kissing Stiles’ fingers, his knuckles. 

“You’ve been my boyfriend for a while,” Derek stated. “Since we got back from tour.” Stiles smiled, unable to help himself as he laughed. “I haven’t wanted to be with anyone else since we got together, and I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather be with right now.” 

“Good,” Stiles said, though his heart swelled. “Good, then I’ll play it.” 

“Thank God,” Derek said easily, laughing himself. 

Stiles cleared his throat, playing around for a few more seconds before he got serious, playing Derek’s song for him. Stiles closed his eyes, both forgetting that Derek was there listening and also consuming every detail about the fact that Derek was in bed with him as he played him the song. 

Every song on the album was about Stiles’ exes, about heartache and being told that he couldn’t be himself, that he had to hide. All of them except for Derek’s song. As Stiles finished, his fingers hovered over the keys, shaking slightly. 

“That was beautiful,” Derek said, kissing Stiles on the lips. He cupped Stiles’ face with his hands, kissing him again. “You’re beautiful,” he said. Stiles closed his eyes, soaking in the affection. Derek was his boyfriend; Derek loved the song; Derek was his, and he was Derek’s. 

Derek loved the song. 

-

The first time Stiles heard a Marked & Bitten song on the radio, he and Derek were at a restaurant and it came on almost too low to hear. Stiles’ eyes widened, his hand in the air, waving it around asking Derek to ‘shh’. Stiles stood up, covering his mouth with his hands. It drew attention to him, but in that moment he didn’t care. 

Derek kissed him, laughing as Stiles clung to him. The experience was something he definitely wanted to remember. Derek took a picture of him so he could post it on Instagram. 

Marked & Bitten’s song, _You’ll Never Know_ , not only shot up into the Top 40 within two weeks, but went to number one. For four weeks in a row. They threw a party, with friends at a packed bar where Stiles got drunk off his ass and could barely remember it. A release date was set for their album, their video was released, and Stiles couldn’t remember the last time he slept in his own bed. 

Derek’s bed was better than his, his apartment quieter. 

Stiles sat on Derek’s couch while HGTV played in the background. He was on Instagram, replying to people who commented on his latest picture, or answering those who tagged him in things. He liked interacting, found it a fun way to pass the time. Of Marked & Bitten, Stiles was on social media the most, and then Kira. Stiles ran the band’s twitter account, reminding them that they had a show in New York coming up. 

Derek was in the kitchen, on the phone with one of his sisters while he cooked. It smelled good, made Stiles’ mouth water as he waited for it to be ready. 

“No, not this week,” Stiles heard Derek say into the phone. “We’re busy, Cora, he’s-- no I’m not making excuses.” 

Meeting the family wasn’t something that Stiles and Derek wanted to take lightly. His own dad, who lived in California, asked if Derek would be coming to Thanksgiving dinner. Stiles had no idea if _he_ would be at Thanksgiving, let alone if Derek would be. Besides, they weren’t even a month into their relationship, their official relationship. 

“I’ll let you know-- what?” Derek asked, staring at his phone in his hand. Stiles watched Derek pocket it, his face set in a frown, his brows drawn tight. 

“What?” Stiles asked. 

“Well,” Derek said, giving Stiles a look. “Cora is coming over.” 

“What?” Stiles asked, this time his voice rising. “Now?” 

“Yep,” Derek said, his jaw clenched. “She hung up on me. Apparently she’s tired of waiting for you to come around so she’s coming over.”

“Derek, we just fucked-- it smells like sex in here,” Stiles said, standing up and opening a window. “Sex and food! Fuck!” Stiles yelled. “You have sex hair!” Derek ran his fingers through his hair. “You’re not wearing pants, where are my pants? We aren’t clothed--”

“Stiles, it’s okay,” Derek said calmly, stepping away from the pan of chicken he’d been attending. He was in nothing but his boxer briefs. Stiles, too, was much the same, only he’d pulled on one of Derek’s shirts. “It should take her--”

There was a knock on the door and Stiles bolted towards the small, cramped bedroom. 

“Fuck,” Stiles hissed, pulling on his jeans and trying to flatten his hair. Derek had answered the door in nothing but his underwear, and Stiles cursed under his breath more. 

“That didn’t take you long,” Derek said louder than necessary. “What were you, a block away?”

“Just getting off the subway.” 

“You could apologize,” Derek pointed out. “For barging in.”

“I told you I was coming over,” Cora said as Stiles appeared in the doorway. She grinned at him. “Hi, Stiles, I’m Cora.” 

“Hey,” he said, offering a hand. All he could think about was the fact that less than an hour ago he’d fucked Derek with his fingers. His cheeks reddened. “Nice to meet you, finally. Derek talks about you all the time.”

“Does he, now?” Cora asked. 

Derek sighed, pinching his nose. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to put pants on.” 

“Wise choice,” Cora said as Derek passed by them, leaving Stiles alone with her. She looked similar to Derek, though shorter. She had the same eyes, penetrating and somehow stripping him bare. 

“So, when do you go back on tour?” She asked, her arms crossed. 

“Uh,” Stiles said, scratching his neck. “End of this week,” Stiles said. “Though it’s not really a tour, per se, it’s a pre-release---”

“Tour,” Cora said. “As in, you’ll be away for a prolonged period of time.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said. “Yes, I’ll be gone.”

“I just want to know so I’ll know when Derek will be free.” Stiles’ heart sank. “Since he’s been so preoccupied with you.” 

“Don’t be jealous,” Derek said as he reentered the room. “I’m not preoccupied, you completely blew me off when you got with anyone ever, so--” Derek flicked Cora’s ear. “Be nice.” 

“I’ll only be nice if Stiles follows me back on Instagram,” Cora beamed. Stiles’ eyebrows rose. “So I’ll feel less like a stalker.” 

“Sure,” Stiles said, fiddling with his phone. “What’s your name on there?” He asked. 

“We don’t even follow each other,” Derek pointed out. 

“Fine, I’ll follow you too,” Stiles said, sticking his phone out. 

“Is there enough food for me?” Cora asked, looking at what Derek was cooking. 

Stiles ended up really liking Cora, because she had no qualms with pulling out really embarrassing stories of Derek and telling Stiles about Derek’s rebellious teenage years. After she left, Stiles went through her instagram and liked every photo she had with Derek in it as he curled up on the couch. He fell asleep with his head in Derek’s lap, Derek’s fingers in his hair. 

They only had a week left together before Stiles was off with the band. They would be doing press, a lot of it, flying all over before the release. He was excited about it, because everything was gaining momentum. The only drawback was the fact that Derek wouldn’t be there with him. 

-

“Stiles, come on,” Scott said, pulling Stiles out of his bed. Stiles almost hit the floor, groaning as his feet caught himself. “You slept through your alarm, twice.” 

“Guh,” Stiles said, his face scrunched up. “Fuck.” 

“Come on, we gotta go,” Scott said, throwing clothes at Stiles. Stiles put his hand up to his throat, trying to swallow. 

“Scott,” Stiles said, his voice hoarse. Fuck. “Scott,” he tried again. Scott finally looked at Stiles, his eyes wide. 

“Fuck,” Scott said, putting a hand to Stiles’ forehead. “You’re burning up.” 

“Dude,” Stiles complained as Scott forced a shirt on him. He wanted to crawl back into bed, but he knew that he couldn’t. Press, a lot of it, was going to happen all day long. At least they were still in New York, so Stiles could go to the doctor if he needed to. His throat hurt, and Stiles wasn’t known to be sick quietly. He complained by moaning his way down the street, on the subway, in line for coffee, and he even pouted as a makeup artist touched him up before they were interviewed. 

He wanted a nap; he wanted Derek. He wanted his bed, any bed, actually. Stiles put his head down on the couch as around him everyone talked idly as they waited to get started. The world felt hazy, like he had cotton in his ears and he just felt _wrong_. When he opened his eyes, he regretted it. They’d turned on bright lights for filming and he wasn’t amused. 

Somehow, he managed to not act like he was dying while on film. It wasn’t until they were on their way to the second interview that Stiles saw that Kira had updated the band’s Instagram account with a picture of him sleeping on the couch, stating that he was sick. 

“Rude,” Stiles said, scooting down in his seat. With his head against the cool window, he checked his Instagram tags, his eyes widening when he saw a screencap of his following list, with hearts around Derek’s name. Upon further inspection, he saw that a fan had put two and two together, along with the fact that Stiles had gone through and liked Cora’s pictures of Derek. Stiles screencapped their screencap, then sent it to Derek with a bunch of question marks. He didn’t know what to do about it, couldn’t really think straight considering his throat was killing him. 

During the third interview of the day, which was on a radio show, Stiles was mostly silent, staring off into space, so of course they called him out on it.

“I’m feeling a little under the weather,” Stiles said after clearing his throat. “Trying to save my voice, since we’re about to have a show.” Stiles was so, so fucked. 

“Well we wanted to ask you about the lyrics for _You’ll Never Know_ , what was going through your head when you wrote it.” 

Stiles sighed, taking a sip of water before answering, holding his throat because somehow it felt better when he did. 

“It’s about unrequited love, in a way. It’s about this guy that I used to know,” Stiles said, playing with the water bottle label, trying not to think about the fact that he was nervous. He sat up straighter, meeting the eye of the DJ. “About how he’d never know how I felt, it’s all a little sad, but Allison knows her shit, and it’s got a good upbeat so people sort of forget it’s about heartbreak.” 

“Have you had your heart broken recently?” They asked as a segue. Stiles laughed, even though it hurt, biting his bottom lip. 

“Not recently, no,” Stiles said. 

“Do you have a significant other?” Stiles took a deep breath. 

“Yeah, I’ve got a boyfriend. I’m off the market,” Stiles said, smiling to himself. When the interview was over, he had texts waiting for him from Derek. 

_Proud of you_ , was the most recent; he’d been listening. 

Stiles had a few moments free, was sipping tea with honey, when he called Derek. 

“Stiles’ boyfriend,” he said into the receiver. Stiles tried not to laugh. 

“Sorry, I sort of just blurted it, and with that Instagram post--”

“It’s fine,” Derek said. “More than, even. But are you okay? Your voice sounds off.” 

“I’m sick,” Stiles said. “Like, I feel like I’m about to pass out, today is horrible,” Stiles said as he rubbed at his eye. He wanted to lay down. “But we have hours left, and tomorrow we have the gig and my throat is killing me.” 

“Did you make a doctor’s appointment?” Derek asked. “Do you have time before you leave?” 

“Ugh,” Stiles said. “I don’t want to go.”

“You’re only saying that because you don’t feel good.” 

“I just want sleep,” Stiles said as a PA came by, showing Stiles five fingers; five minutes until time. Stiles took another sip of tea. “I want to sleep in your bed.”

“The real reason we’re together,” Derek deadpanned. Stiles smiled, his eyes closing. “If you’re sick, maybe you shouldn’t come over later. You need to rest.” 

“But I need soup and cuddles,” Stiles pouted. “But you’re right, I don’t want to get you sick.” 

“I don’t care if I get sick,” Derek said. “Come over if you’re feeling up to it.” Stiles put his head in his hands, sniffling. He didn’t know what he wanted. He needed sleep, a cold compress on his head, to chug NyQuil. “I want to see you before you leave.” 

-

Stiles didn’t go to Derek’s. He was practically dragged into he and Scott’s apartment, flung onto the bed after an entire day’s worth of interviews, and slept until he was poked awake. 

“No,” Stiles croaked, pushing at the hand that tried to pry his blankets from him. “Fuck off, Scotty.” 

“Not Scott,” Derek said. Stiles groaned, his hand reaching out for Derek’s. Derek’s fingers intertwined with his, with Derek’s other hand pushing Stiles’ hair out of his face. “You don’t have a fever, which is good.” 

“Don’t make me move.”

“You’re on vocal rest,” Derek said. “Don’t talk.” Stiles glared at him. “You have to sing tonight.” 

Derek had made soup, a family recipe, that made Stiles feel better. They stayed in Stiles’ bed, with Stiles curled under the covers while Derek stayed above them, and watched Netflix. It wasn’t quite Netflix and chill, but it made Stiles feel like they had a normal relationship. By the time it hit two o’clock, Stiles had to get up and shower, the steam at least helping him a little bit before heading towards the venue with Derek in tow. 

Stiles sang his way through soundcheck, then happily used throat numbing spray that Kira had bought for him. Instead of going to dinner with everyone, he and Derek stayed in the green room, with his head in Derek’s lap as he checked his phone for the first time in twenty-four hours. 

There was a lot to catch up on. Twitter had gone insane over not only his interview where he’d talked about his unrequited love of another male, but him stating he had a boyfriend. He’d always been out, at least since being in the band, but he supposed it was the first time he said anything on public radio that the masses heard. He felt oddly calm about it. 

Scott hadn’t mentioned anything, neither had Allison or Kira. Though his heartbeat picked up, he couldn’t help but feel like that was how it should be. He’d answered the question honestly, truthfully, and there shouldn’t be anything wrong with that. Stiles decided that if someone else asked him anything similar, he’d answer their questions in the same way: he’d be himself.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay in updating, I was at Howlercon!   
> thanks to those of you who said hi! If you went, I hope you had a good time <3

_**[METRO WEEKLY](http://www.metroweekly.com/2015/09/shining-stars-an-interview-with-years-and-years-olly-alexander/)** : So how does it feel now knowing that hundreds of thousands of people are enjoying your music?  
 **STILES STILINSKI** :It’s very hard to describe how it feels because essentially I feel exactly the same as I always did. [Laughs.] Even like a year ago when nobody really knew our music. And now that people do know the songs and I can kind of objectively see how incredible it is, it’s almost too overwhelming. It feels very surreal. It’s a very strange, odd feeling. Because those songs [on the album], I wrote them very naively — I didn’t expect any of them to be hits on the radio. So it’s a very young experience for me, the whole thing. I still haven’t put my head around it._

 

They didn’t get to kiss goodbye. 

Derek watched, his hands shoved in his pockets, as Stiles boarded the van on the way to the airport. They’d hugged, with Stiles’ face turned away from his own in a sad attempt not to get Derek sick. He didn’t care if he fell ill, but Stiles had been adamant. He would have done anything to kiss Stiles one more time before he left for tour. 

It was chilly, and Derek didn’t have his jacket; he’d given it to Stiles. He shivered as he watched the van, with Stiles in it, disappear into the early morning traffic. Derek sighed looking down at his watch. It was early, but not early enough to go back to bed. He walked down the street to the nearest coffee shop, settled down on the couch with a dark roast, and read until he had to meet up with the band. 

Blue Pagan were gearing up for a tour of their own, sans Marked & Bitten, with daily rehearsals and jam sessions that lead to songwriting. They were collaborative in a way that filled Derek’s soul with music. Their rehearsals were like no other, where he was free to express his emotions with notes. His sober mood showed through, despite his best efforts to keep his playing light. 

“There is going to be a mutiny if the new songs are depressing because Derek is lovesick,” Erica said, faking gagging. “He hasn’t even been gone five hours.” 

“They won’t be depressing,” Derek said as he sat, his bow sliding across his violin expertly, his chin resting on it as he sighed. He dropped the bow, his eyes closing. He had to think about something else besides Stiles and the fact that he was on a plane; that he wouldn’t be in New York for months. 

Months. 

Even then, when they got back, the album would drop and he’d be off again. A musician himself, Derek understood the ins and outs of the trade. He was busy, too, and there wasn’t time to wallow. They chose this, to do long distance, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt any less. 

“Come on,” Isaac suggested. “Let’s do a surprise gig tonight, old school warehouse party.”

Derek grinned; that would be perfect. It reminded him of how Blue Pagan first started out: an underground band that played flash gigs with an hours notice all around New York. They’d had a cult following, still did in a way though they rarely got to put on such gigs anymore. It would give Derek a sense of home, a ground to keep him seated in the now. 

“I’ll make a few calls,” Boyd said, leaving Derek to his own thoughts. 

-

The gig had been amazing, it felt like old times again when they hadn’t been signed, didn’t have a band manager that told them what to do at every waking moment, didn’t have people prying into their personal lives and Derek definitely didn’t use social media. 

He even recognized some of the fans as some of the first ones that had followed them since the beginning. He bought them a round. It was old hat, talking to them about their lives, asking how they’d been. Derek even remembered one of their names, despite it being so long that they’d played so intimately. He felt good, his longing sated for the moment with a beer in one and and an arm draped around Isaac. 

They jammed post show as well, after the crowd thinned considerably, with Erica and he singing, Isaac and Boyd playing acoustically. They sang covers, unrehearsed, and laughed when Derek forgot the lyrics. He couldn’t remember the last time a gig made him feel so alive. He loved playing live, craved the feel of elation when he heard people screaming his name, but he missed the intimacy of smaller gigs. 

It was four am when he finally made it home. Drunkenly, he checked his phone, but found no notifications from Stiles. He passed out with his phone in his hand. A hangover, brutal and unforgiving, kept him in bed until his need to piss overcame his need to stay in bed. He blamed the lack of food, the good company, and the fact that he missed Stiles on his body betraying him in a way it hadn’t in ages. 

Curling up on the couch, he put HGTV on in the background. A cursory look online told him that everyone flipped out about the surprise gig, that Marked & Bitten’s single was climbing the charts rapidly, and that pictures from last night looked like he and Isaac were dating. If Derek didn’t feel like throwing up, he would have laughed. 

He spent the early afternoon texting Stiles, which was a conversation entirely in emoji form for no reason except that it made them laugh. Finally, Derek got himself up off the couch and showered, found food, then headed to band practice. 

By the time Stiles called him, between sound check and doors opening, Derek ached to hear his voice. 

“You sound better,” Derek said. The band took a ten minute break when Derek’s phone rang. Gratefully, Derek mouthed the words ‘thank you’ to his bandmates. 

“It’s a lie,” Stiles said. “A farce, I’m good at faking it.” 

“I knew you were a faker,” Derek teaser. Stiles laughed, clearing his throat. “Are you okay for tonight?” Derek asked. 

“I’ve been quiet all day, couldn’t handle it anymore,” Stiles confessed. “They let me nap.” 

“Good on them,” Derek said. “Nothing’s worse than being sick while traveling. 

“I can think of something worse,” Stiles mumbled. “But I wanted to call for a reason,” Stiles said, changing the subject. “Literally, like five minutes ago, Lydia told us some pretty awesome news.” 

“What’s that?” Derek asked, though he had a sneaking suspicion he knew what it was. Lydia, Marked & Bitten’s band manager, was as new to the industry as M&B were themselves, but so far she seemed to have a good head on her shoulders, giving the band enough reign that Stiles didn’t feel suffocated. Derek liked her a lot. 

“Well, know that I’m sick, first of all, and I can’t think straight,” Stiles pointed out. “That’s important in this story, alright?”

“Noted,” Derek said, smiling to himself. 

“Well, Lyds just came in and told us-- well we were on the couch, right? Green room couch of dubious stains and all, and we’re number one.” 

“Number one?” Derek asked, grinning. “I knew you would get there, fuck, that’s so--”

“So she told us, and Allison and Kira screamed and Scott sat there in shock and I-- I started crying, because why the fuck not, right?” 

“You’re number one!” Derek reiterated. “Stiles, that’s so-- I’d cry too.” 

“You wouldn’t,” Stiles said. “But thanks, yeah, for making me feel better about crying when I found out something I’d written hit number one-- fuck,” Stiles said. “My hands are shaking.” 

“You deserve it,” Derek said. 

“I can’t believe it,” Stiles stated. “We-- we were just signed, we fucking-- we’re no ones and I’m sick, and Allison is hugging everyone and I’m a lump on the couch.”

“It’s all very regal, how does it feel to be on top of the charts?”

“Oh, well, fantastic besides the fact that I can’t currently stand without feeling like I’m gonna be sick.” Derek wanted to scream, he was so excited for Stiles. Blue Pagan hadn’t ever been number one, had barely broken the top ten, and the fact that You’ll Never Know was M&B’s first breakthrough song was astounding. “If I wasn’t sick, this would be better, more monumental. Right now I just want my pillow and to rip my throat out.” 

“You should rest before you have to go on, save your energy.”

“Ugh,” Stiles said. “I’ll talk to you later.” 

“Later,” Derek said, though his words hung heavy on his tongue. He’d wanted to say something else, wanted to wrap his arms around Stiles, to hoist him into the air and celebrate. Instead, Derek put his phone in his pocket and returned to his bandmates, telling them the good news. 

-

 _You’ll Never Know_ stayed number one for three weeks in a row, then stayed in the Top 10 for a month after that as Marked  & Bitten toured around the US before going to Europe. They had a short two day break in New York before starting the second leg of their tour. Derek hadn’t seen Stiles in person since he’d been sick, even though they FaceTimed daily. 

Two days, that was all they had. Luckily, Blue Pagan was also in town. If Derek had missed his chance to see Stiles, he was sure that he would break down. Being apart was eating him up inside, though he tried not to let it show. He knew it was doing the same to Stiles, though Stiles wasn’t as good at hiding his emotions, his humor turning even more sarcastic than normal, glares scathing-- 

Or so Scott’s texts to Derek said. He wasn’t sure when Scott started texting him about Stiles, somewhere in the two weeks apart mark. They were simple things like ‘call Stiles before he breaks something’, or ‘Stiles is having a bad day’. Bad day meaning he missed Derek so much it hurt. Derek related, so much so that he always immediately called because he knew if Scott texted, it was serious. 

They had made it, though. They’d survived the time apart and they had two days to be together before being ripped apart again. He wanted to make the best of it. Stiles had done interviews, multiple at this point, where he was asked about his boyfriend. Each time, Stiles stated that he was in a relationship, but it wasn’t discussed with who. He wasn’t divulging anything else, because it was private. Thus far, the media hadn’t pressed further, but Derek knew it was only a matter of time. Marked & Bitten were getting a lot of exposure, so much so that Stiles told Derek had barely went out to Chipotle or to get coffee without being stopped. It was jarring, but he was dealing with it as best he could: by embracing it. 

Stiles decided to meet Derek at his apartment as soon as he could. Waiting was the worst part of it. Derek knew they were back in town, knew when Stiles got to his own apartment, when Stiles got out of the shower, when he was on his way over. Stiles texted constantly updating Derek, because he was just as excited as Derek was. Derek could hear footsteps coming down the hall towards his door, so he opened it, unable to wait a moment longer to see Stiles. 

He looked much the same as he always did, captivating in simple jeans, t-shirt, and Derek’s leather jacket with his hair still wet, face newly shaved. As Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles, burying his face against Stiles’ neck as they held onto each other, he breathed him in, almost letting out a sob a his scent. Stiles clung to him, their bodies rocking against each other. A bag was dropped at Stiles’ feet, letting Derek know that he had no intention of leaving Derek’s side. They hadn’t kissed yet, both of them frozen in place with their bodies pressed together. Derek’s chest constricted as he shifted, his lips grazing Stiles’ neck, trailing over his chin before kissing him. Stiles moaned, pushing Derek against the doorframe. 

“Fuck,” Stiles said, his breath shaking. “Fuck, I missed you.” 

“I fucking--” Derek didn’t have any words as he grabbed Stiles’ bag and his hand, leading him inside, slamming the door shut behind them. Desperately, Stiles tugged at Derek’s clothes, his fingers trembling. Derek let him as he ran his hands up and down Stiles’ arms, raking his fingers through Stiles’ hair, worshiping him the way he deserved. Derek thought about Stiles in the shower, readying himself as Stiles dropped to his knees, his mouth hanging open like he needed Derek’s cock in his mouth. There was no way Derek was going to deny him that. 

“Shit,” Derek said, hissing as Stiles’ mouth enveloped him. It was messy, desperate in the hottest way possible as Stiles refused to lose eye contact with him as he blew Derek. “Come here,” Derek said, urging Stiles to his feet, his thumb brushing across Stiles’ lips before kissing him, lifting him and pressing Stiles’ back against the wall. With Stiles’ legs wrapped around Derek’s waist, he kissed Stiles, holding onto his ass. 

“Wait,” Stiles gasped as Derek rolled his hips, groaning when the fabric of Stiles’ jeans was in the way. “Fuck, please, I need you.” 

Derek put him down long enough that Stiles could step out of his jeans, leaving his socks on because he couldn’t care less about them. A condom was unwrapped, slid on after it was taken from Derek’s pocket before Stiles was once more pressed against the wall, his legs around Derek’s waist as he slid into him. Stiles had definitely prepped himself in the shower. Derek swore as he thrust upwards into him, Stiles’ hands around Derek’s neck as they kissed. With each movement, each moan that escaped Stiles’ mouth, his stomach clenched. There wasn’t anything else that mattered in that moment except that Stiles was in his arms, that their lips were pressed together as they panted, skin touching skin. 

Derek didn’t last long, there was no way he could have, not having touched Stiles in so long. He was starved for the feel of Stiles encompassing him. Stiles moaned as Derek slid out of him, his own erection standing straight up as his feet hit the floor, chest heaving as Derek lead him towards the couch. Stiles kissed Derek before getting on his knees, bending over the couch with his hands on the back cushions, legs spread. Derek knelt before him, taking his cock in hand tugging it downwards as his tongue teased at the head. Stiles moaned, his back arching as Derek took Stiles into his mouth, sucking at him before licking upwards, over his balls to his ass. Derek moaned against his just fucked ass, giving him attention as he jacked Stiles off. Going back and forth between his ass and his cock, Derek had Stiles whimpering from the slow, intense way that he worshipped him. 

“Please,” Stiles said as Derek teased him by pressing two fingers inwards. “I want to come,” Stiles said as he reached back, his fingers trailing over Derek’s stubbled chin. Derek took Stiles’ fingers into his mouth, sucking on them before returning his attention to Stiles’ ass. He was hard again, and Stiles was leaking. He licked up the precome, breathing heavily as Stiles let out a low whine. 

“Condoms are far away,” Derek grunted. Stiles squirmed, his head twisting back. He could ask Stiles, they could bare back; he hadn’t been with anyone else. He could, but he wouldn’t ask that. “Give me a moment.” 

Derek got another condom, opening it as he walked back towards the couch. Stiles had changed his positioning on the couch: on his back with his hand fisted around his cock. His face twisted, mouth hanging open as he came. Derek couldn’t fault him for it, being denied earlier because Derek couldn’t stop touching him, but not enough to bring him to orgasm. Derek kissed Stiles’ forehead as he climbed over him, lining himself up. Stiles gasped, groaning at the intrusion after just being fucked. They mouthed at each other’s necks, avoiding kissing after Derek’s mouth had been on his ass. Stiles moved against him, wanton and beautiful beneath him, clinging to him as he fucked him into the couch. 

After, they laid sprawled out on the couch, unable to move. Stiles, asleep beneath him, had his arms wrapped around Derek so that he couldn’t move even if he wanted to. He ached knowing that their time together was going to be short. 

Derek ordered them sushi, and while they waited for it, Stiles fucked Derek in the shower. They ate the sushi naked, on the couch, as they watched Bob’s Burgers. Exhausted, they made out, then laughed when they realized they hadn’t made it to the bed yet. One of Derek’s sisters called, but he ignored it. The door was locked, and he had no intention of answering if someone came by unless they were delivering food. 

They didn’t fuck in bed, but wrapped their arms around each other instead, laying there with the sheets draped over them, Stiles’s hand on Derek’s chest. 

“I want to look again, at our schedules.” 

“Okay,” Derek said, sitting up. 

“I didn’t mean right now,” Stiles said, linking his fingers with Derek’s. “I meant before I leave, I want to see if we have any time off at the same time in Europe, or something, I want-- I don’t want to go that long not seeing you again.” 

“It was torture,” Derek admitted. He bent over, kissing Stiles on the lips. “Let’s do it now, before bed.” They sat there with their phones in hand, both of them with their tour schedules pulled up. 

“I’m in Paris the twelfth with two days off after,” Stiles said, hopefully. 

“Berlin the 13th,” Derek said, sighing. “Then Munich.” 

“I could come see you,” Stiles mumbled. “How about after I’m done in Spain?” 

“When are you in Spain?” Derek asked, angry that their schedules didn’t seem to mesh at all. He was getting frustrated that they would both be in Europe but unable to see each other. 

“20th, then we have four days off,” Stiles said. 

“I’m in Portugal,” Derek groaned. 

“We can find something,” Stiles said, determined. “I’m not-- this isn’t okay.” They sat there, searching, finding some overlap of even a day that they both had off. “I’m not giving up on this. I’ll fly to Paris if I have to, just to see you. I’ll go to Munich, I’ll get a layover--” 

“Hey,” Derek said, calming Stiles down by kissing his forehead. “We’ll figure something out.” 

“I don’t want the next time I see you to be the release party. Fuck, do you have the release party free? What if you can’t come?” Stiles’ chest heaved, his eyes wide; he was working himself up into a panic. 

“It’s okay,” Derek soothed him, or attempted to. Stiles sat up, trying to breathe as tears stung his eyes. Derek felt the same way he did, that it was hopeless. Though they spent the day together, it wasn’t a real relationship. Fucking desperately felt so superficial, late night calls that only lasted a few moments were fleeting. Derek reached out for Stiles, only to have his hand pushed away. 

“Don’t touch me,” Stiles said as he clutched at his chest, tears rolling down his cheeks. “Just let me--” Stiles got up and went into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. Derek got out of bed, pulling on a pair of sweatpants as he waited by the door, unsure of what to do. He wondered if this is what Scott had meant when he texted that Stiles had a bad day: panic attacks. Derek could hear the water running and Stiles sniffling. 

Derek looked at his phone, checking the release date of M&B’s self titled album. He had it off, as far as he could tell. Derek texted his band manager, Marin Morrell, that he needed it to remain open. He had to be at that party, not only for Stiles’ sake, but his own. 

When Stiles emerged from the bathroom, his face was red, his hair a mess. 

“I’m sorry,” Stiles croaked. “I didn’t want you to see me like that, I feel so--- I hate that I have them about us.”

“Stiles,” Derek said, unsure if Stiles wanted him to touch him or not. Stiles initiated the contact, wrapping his arms around Derek. 

“I hate it,” Stiles said. “I hate how it makes me feel, being away from you and I hate that I don’t want to tour because of it, but I want to tour, I want this album to come out-- I want too many things.” 

Derek lets Stiles rant, lets him keep going because he’s had all the same thoughts running through his head. Somehow, they were going to make it work. 

They had to.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> officially finished writing this fic. I gotta say, this is one of my favorite fics. thanks so much for reading <3

_The release date of the next single Anchor is currently up in the air, with You’ll Never Know still very much part of the furniture for most radio stations. It’s Stiles’ idea of the only “slightly positive” song on the impending debut record, the rest having been written “post-breakup, post-relationship and post-rejection.” Anchor was written in the optimistic beginning phase of his relationship with his current boyfriend of nearly six months. “It’s a really euphoric song but I actually find it really emotional,” he says. “I found it quite difficult to be honest in a hopeful way. It’s about hoping something works out. For me it’s hard to be that vulnerable without feeling a bit desperate.” - Stiles Stilinski for[Attitude](http://attitude.co.uk/attitude-interviews-years-years-gay-frontman-olly-alexander/%0A)_

There wasn’t enough time. Two days wasn’t nearly enough time, and Stiles could barely see as he packed his clothes as tears fell. He kept wiping them away, but it was no use. He felt so incredibly weak because he was unable to make them stop. He knew it was from exhaustion, his emotions bubbling at the surface, the fact that his entire body ached from the marathon sex, the lack of sleep and the mere fact that he wouldn’t see Derek again for who knows how long. 

So yes, Stiles cried. He didn’t care what that said about him as a person, because people cried. It was a thing that happened, and he was against stereotypes and liked to consider himself attuned to his emotions. But that didn’t make him feel better as Derek sat on the bed, watching as Stiles struggled. Derek, too, had tears in his eyes, though they clung to his eyelashes, his hands in his lap as he breathed deeply. 

Stiles had to leave soon, and there was no more delaying the fact that it would be a while before they saw each other. Stiles wiped at his face with his long-sleeved shirt, blinking rapidly as he thought of something. 

“Can you... can you just put your head on my pillow?” Stiles mumbled as he folded jeans. He didn’t look at Derek, couldn’t do it, but he saw out of the corner of his eye that Derek had laid down on the bed, still facing him. Stiles bit his lip, closing his eyes. His heart ached knowing that Derek’s scent would cling to the pillow for at least a little while, then the ghost scent would linger. It helped. 

Derek also brought Stiles a couple of his shirts, which were already packed. Stiles wore one under a plaid shirt, a deep V that didn’t quite suit his normal look, but he didn’t care. He just didn’t care anymore. He wanted comfort; he wanted Derek. A knock at the door had Stiles standing up and clearing his throat; there was no saving him from the fact that it was apparent that he had been crying, his face a red blotchy mess. 

Scott was at the door with a somber look on his face. 

“Ten minutes,” Scott said, giving them both a look. 

“Sure thing,” Stiles said, attempting to give him a smile. He reminded himself over and over that he wanted to go on tour, that this was what he wanted at the bottom of his heart. He was a musician, and tour was exciting. It would be his first time in Europe, he should be ecstatic that they’d managed to sell out almost every show, and the album hadn’t even dropped yet. “Ten more minutes,” he reiterated. 

When he shut the door, Derek was off the bed within the blink of an eye, his arms wrapping around Stiles. They stood there in silence, holding onto each other. 

“It’ll be okay,” Derek said. Stiles wasn’t sure if he was telling himself that more so than telling Stiles. When they kissed, it was wet and tasted of salt. 

Before leaving, Stiles splashed water on his face, made sure he had his pillow and Derek’s hoodie from NYU that he’d confiscated as his own. The van that was taking them to the airport wouldn’t wait forever. He felt hollow as he kissed Derek one more time, words he wanted to say frozen on the tip of his tongue, too heavy to be let out. 

“I’ll call,” Stiles said instead of three words he wanted to say. “When we land at Heathrow.” 

“You better,” Derek said, putting his hands in his pockets, nodding to Scott as he stowed his things in the van. He gave Stiles a smile, and he made sure that he looked at Derek in an attempt to remember every detail of his face. From his multicolored eyes, to his jawline, how he constantly looked as though he was only a day away from a beard but it was still considered stubble, his tousled hair that was getting longer and longer, the fact that he wore his leather jacket; the one that Stiles had the first leg of the tour. 

As they pulled away, Stiles didn’t cry. Instead, he felt nothing. 

He wore headphones as they walked through the airport. They went through security, found their gate, then went straight to the bar to wait for their call to board. Stiles dared anyone to walk up to them, really, but the airport was full of people, all transient and going about their own lives for once. Stiles was grateful for the anonymity. Before boarding, the band took a group selfie to publish on their Instagram and Twitter accounts, all of them smiling and excited for the European leg of the tour. It was easy to smile, though as Stiles posted it, he thought his eyes gave his true feelings away. Immediately, the fan reaction came pouring in with retweets and likes, along with pleas for attention from anything like a simple ‘hi’ to propositions for sex. Stiles mostly ignored the later, but tweeted a few hello’s to fans before exiting the app. 

He didn’t sleep on the plane, since it was still early on East coast time as they crossed the Atlantic. Instead, he played on his DS, listened to his music, then played mindless games on his iPad where he popped balloons and shot birds at pigs. Stiles didn’t think once. 

As soon as they landed, Stiles turned his phone off of airplane mode while everyone stood up and stretched. He ignored all texts and email notifications that popped up in order to call Derek. It would be late, or early, rather, but he knew Derek would pick up. 

It took four rings, but he did pick up. 

“Stiles,” Derek said, his voice groggy from sleep despite the early hour in the US. “You make it?” 

“Landed in London,” Stiles said, his chest constricting at the sound of Derek’s voice. “You can sleep easier now.” Stiles was exhausted, but they still had to go through customs and get to their hotel room. It would be at least an hour or more before he got to sleep. 

“Call me when you wake up,” Derek said. “Okay?” 

“Okay,” Stiles said, biting his lower lip. “I-- I’ll call you.” 

-

Stiles’ schedule in London the first few days to the lead up of their first gig was insane. They were woken up at five in the morning, despite getting in so late for a day of interviews for BBC Radio, along with filming Graham Norton. It was surreal, not only in the fact that it was their first live studio audience and talk show appearance, but that they were number one in England. It was hard to wrap his brain around, but he tried not to think about it. He did what he was told, went where he was supposed to, and wore what was given to him for a photoshoot. He was poked, prodded, had makeup applied to him and was given copious amounts of coffee to offset the impending exhaustion. 

Their gigs, sold out, went really well with only a few minor hiccoughs that were out of their control. Technical malfunctions were a thing that happened, and power surges when you’re a mostly electronic band was a definite downside. 

“It’s embarrassing,” Stiles told an interviewer in Paris as he sipped his coffee. Always with the coffee. His leg bounced indefinitely as Allison talked about what had happened the night before. The days were blurring together, and Stiles couldn’t even tell what day of the week it was anymore. All he knew was that Derek was flying to Germany, and they’d be in the same timezone again, finally. “But the crowds were great, they understood. When the power came back, it was as if nothing had gone wrong.” 

“Tell us about your new single _Anchor_ ,” the interviewer asked. Stiles nodded his head, readying himself to answer. “It’s quite different from your first single _You’ll Never Know_.” 

“It is, yeah,” Stiles said, scratching the back of his ear. “It’s rather positive, actually, where as most of the rest of the album has the same feel as _You’ll Never Know_ , which is to say, the lyrics are about break-ups and heartbreak but _Anchor_ is about finding someone who can keep you grounded, someone who is safe and makes you feel more like yourself.” 

“Is it about someone specifically?” They asked. 

“It is,” Stiles said, slipping his hands under his thighs, sitting on them as he rocked back and forth slightly. He’d had too much coffee. “It’s about my boyfriend, my current one, and that’s the difference lyrically, that it’s about hope that everything will turn out alright when all my past relationships crumbled.” 

“Well, it’s an amazing song, and with _You’ll Never Know_ still in the Top 40, it would be great to see a break out band such as Marked  & Bitten to have two hits on the chart.” 

“It would be, yeah,” Stiles said, quickly going quiet so that Kira could talk. 

-

In Portugal, Stiles was in the middle of their set when he looked offstage, where Lydia usually stood watching, only to find Derek standing there. It took everything, all of his self control, not to run off the stage and jump into his arms. Instead, he danced around the stage, jumping into the air as he let out his emotions. Derek was there, off stage, and he couldn’t believe it. 

As the song ended, Stiles knew he was supposed to take things down and play his keyboard for two of their slower songs, but he wanted to dance. As he approached the keyboard, putting his microphone on it’s stand, he made a heart with his hands. Derek did it back; Stiles wanted to cry. Instead, he took a drink of water, composing himself, turning his attention back to the audience. 

“Everyone can hook up during this portion,” Stiles laughed, adjusting his microphone. “With whoever you came with, a stranger even,” Stiles said as he tested his keyboard. “I guarantee that Grindr is a hotspot tonight.” Stiles smiled to himself as the audience screamed. He looked at Derek as he sang of heartaches of his past. 

For Stiles, writing about his past had been therapeutic, so much so that as soon as they recorded the songs, as soon as he started playing them live that they took on a whole new life. It was as if writing the song banished those feelings from him, so much so that they felt disembodied in a way. The songs didn’t belong to him, but to the fans, taking on a life of their own. He didn’t live through the heartache each time he sang, but smiled his way through it as he heard people singing along despite the fact that, officially, the songs weren’t released yet. 

It made his heart swell with pride. 

When his small set was finished, Stiles bounded around the stage, excited because _Anchor_ was next. He got a thumbs up from Kira that she was ready. With his microphone once more in hand, Stiles fiddled with his earpiece. 

“This next song is our new single,” Stiles said, only to get screams shouted back at him. He laughed, turning towards the backstage. “And it’s about my boyfriend,” he said, his voice shaking a little bit. Stiles pointed. “He’s backstage right now,” Stiles said, waving. “Everyone say hi to Derek.” 

A chorus of ‘Hi, Derek’ filled the venue. Derek waved, Stiles jumped and danced as the tune started. It was more upbeat than the piano version he’d played Derek in his bed, easy to dance along with and Stiles felt unstoppable as he moved to the beat, singing his heart out during the long notes. 

They ended the set with _You’ll Never Know_ , and then it was over. Stiles ran for Derek, his earpieces hanging from around his neck, microphone still in hand as he practically jumped into Derek’s arms. 

“Oh my God,” Stiles said. They kissed and Stiles couldn’t breathe. “Oh my God.” Derek was there, in front of him, and Stiles was covered in sweat and needed water but all he could do was kiss Derek. He had his fingers in Derek’s hair, on his ass, his hands tugging at his leather jacket. “Fuck,” Stiles said. 

“Surprise,” Derek murmured between kisses. “I couldn’t-- we had today off--” 

“Fuck, I love you,” Stiles said. He kissed Derek again and again, but stilled as he realized what he’d said aloud. Derek cupped Stiles’ face, looking in his eyes before kissing him, deepening it, his mouth open, Stiles’ mirroring Derek’s. 

“I love you, too,” Derek said, pressing his forehead against Stiles’. Stiles grinned, unable to stop from laughing as Derek kissed his neck. “And I hope you know we’re in view of the audience right now.” 

“Fuck em’,” Stiles said, kissing him again. “I just told the entire place you were my boyfriend.” 

“You did,” Derek agreed. “You said my name.”

“I did,” Stiles confessed, his fingers in Derek’s hair once more. “I did.” 

“I love you,” Derek said again, testing the words on his lips before kissing Stiles once more. “I missed you, I had to see you.” 

“How long do you have?” Stiles asked.   
“I have to leave in the morning,” Derek sighed. “But we have tonight.” 

“That’s enough,” Stiles said. “I’ll take anything.” 

-

Luckily, M&B were staying at a hotel that night. Apparently, Derek had set it up with Lydia, making sure that it would be a good time to pop in. Stiles couldn’t believe that Lydia would keep it from him, but to her credit, she hadn’t in case something fell through. 

“We weren’t sure if it would work out or not,” Lydia said when they were on the bus on the way back to the airport about an hour and a half after the concert ended. Derek’s hand was in Stiles’ and they hadn’t so much as stepped away from each other since Stiles got off stage. “Besides, seeing the look on your face when you saw that he was backstage was priceless.” Lydia took her phone out, showing Stiles the picture she took. He looked like he’d seen a ghost, if the ghost was the sexiest ghost he’d ever seen. 

“Delete that,” Stiles said. “Right now.”

“Nope,” Lydia said. “Maybe I’ll post it--”

“Do it,” Allison said, smirking. “I bet all the shippers would have a field day, like they aren’t already.”

“Shippers?” Stiles asked.

“You should check the band Twitter,” Allison said. “Field day.” 

Stiles didn’t want to know, not right now. He was too tired, except too wired at the same time. Derek was next to him, was really there with him, and he didn’t have the mental capacity to deal with media perception of them. Instead, he kissed Derek because he could. 

At the hotel, somehow, there were fans waiting. Stiles held Derek’s hand, using him as an anchor. He was tired, slightly cranky that fans found their hotel, and wanted some privacy. Whereas onstage he was fine with the attention, and one in the morning he was less inclined to stop for a picture. 

That didn’t stop them from taking pictures, though. Lydia apologized to the fans, stating that the band was tired as they passed by quickly. Stiles waved apologetically, but he knew if he stopped, he’d have to talk with each of them and he and Derek only had until the morning and it was already late. 

Upstairs, finally in his room, which he’d had alone and now realized that it was set up that way by Lydia, Stiles collapsed onto the bed. 

Derek’s bag sat on the bed beside him; it really had been planned out, all of it. Stiles smiled to himself as Derek sat down beside him. He reached his hand out, taking Stiles’ in his own, kissing his knuckles. 

“I have to shower,” Stiles mumbled sleepily. 

“I’ll join you,” Derek suggested. 

They kissed lazily as water cascaded down their bodies, soaping each other up, hands roaming. It wasn’t sexual, but sensual as they took their time, mapping each other’s bare skin with their mouths until they were ready to get out of the water. They kissed in bed, naked with the covers over them, holding each other. Stiles felt himself drifting off as he fought sleep, despite the late hour. He didn’t have much time with Derek, and he felt like it would be wasted if he slept. 

“Sleep,” Derek said, his fingers ghosting down Stiles’ bicep. “You look exhausted.” 

“Want you to fuck me,” Stiles said, his eyes closing. “I want you to stay.” 

“Sleeping with you beside me is enough,” Derek said. “For now, it’s enough.” Stiles hummed, holding Derek close, his eyes not opening again until morning when he woke with Derek’s mouth around his cock. Stiles moaned, his legs spreading as he slowly woke up. It wasn’t until Stiles’ fingers tugged at Derek’s hair did Derek slide a lubed finger into Stiles. 

Lazy morning sex with sleep still clinging to them, their mouths stale, had Stiles coming, his stomach clenching as Derek jacked him off while he fucked him. With his back to Derek’s chest, they fucked on their sides, slow and deep. Stiles moaned, seeking out Derek’s mouth as Derek came inside him. After, they laid there touching each other, neither wanting to move until Derek finally got out of bed to dispose of the condom. 

“Clothes switch,” Stiles said after he’d washed up in the bathroom. “I want that jacket.” 

“I want my blue v neck back,” Derek countered. 

“Done,” Stiles said, grinning. He was in his briefs, not ready to get dressed yet. Derek put his leather jacket on Stiles’ bed, folding it just so before Stiles dug through Derek’s bag, pulling out a few of his shirts while Derek did the same to Stiles’. “Don’t take the hoodie,” Stiles said as Derek put his NYU hoodie up to his nose, smelling it. “Please.” 

“Alright,” Derek said, putting it down. “You can keep it.” 

“If we’re together longer, you can wear it until I leave again,” Stiles suggested. He wanted it to smell like Derek. 

“That’s why I wanted it now,” Derek confessed. Stiles bit his lip. He relinquished it, despite it being his travel companion. He had the leather jacket, so he could give Derek the hoodie for awhile. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” Stiles said. “You need it.” Derek smelled it again, grinning before he kissed Stiles. They fucked again, this time Stiles pressing Derek against the mattress, giving him a hickey that showed above the collar of his shirt. Stiles smirked as they packed. They hadn’t slept for long, had enough time to have breakfast ordered up before Derek had to leave to catch his flight. 

This time when they parted, Stiles had a smile on his face. Derek had surprised him, showed up in the middle of their tours. This time when they kissed goodbye, it didn’t feel quite as hard. Stiles had Derek’s leather jacket on, and it felt like a lingering hug as he watched Derek walk away. 

-

Stiles wouldn’t say it was a mistake that he checked social media. He just found it astounding, the attention that he calling Derek his boyfriend had on the media. It wasn’t just fans that had talked about it, but legitimate articles popped up with he and Derek’s names attached, along with photos of them. It was surreal, in a way, that Stiles saw himself being talked about, that his relationship with Derek was talked about in a way that was so public. 

In a way, Stiles liked it. He liked that he could be open about it, that everything he saw for the most part was positive. There were pictures from the night before, both at the concert and at the hotel. He found that he didn’t mind the pictures from the concert, but not the hotel. There was a difference in his mind, sort of like the pictures that popped up in his tag on Instagram of him on the subway in New York going about his day usually with headphones in and his phone in hand. It was his privacy that mattered to him, and he’d chosen to share the fact that Derek had been backstage, but it was different, seeing them holding hands, with his hoodie up to hide most of his face while Derek’s eyes stayed straight ahead. 

With mixed emotions, Stiles closed out of his apps. He’d had enough social media for the day. Besides, they had a day of traveling ahead of them.


	9. Chapter 9

Derek definitely saw a shift whenever he was online. The replies he got on Twitter went from the mundane ‘say hi pls’ to graphic pleas for him to have sex with them, usually with the term ‘daddy’ attached. Derek ignored most, but when they started asking about Stiles, well, that was another story altogether. He liked interacting, but it was hard to weed through to people who had legitimate questions or weren’t rude. It was exhausting sometimes, so Derek tended to not look at his replies unless he was in a certain mood. 

On the road, he had a lot of down time, so he tended to fuck around on Twitter and Instagram, sometimes talking back and forth with Stiles, commenting on Stiles’ photos or replying to him when it would be just as easy to text. It was their own sort of exhibitionism, talking to each other on social media. Stiles had started it, going through Derek’s instagram and commenting on almost every single picture, mostly with heart eyes emojis. 

They missed each other, it was simple as that. Both of them were touring with completely different schedules, but ever since Derek surprised Stiles in Portugal, things seemed easier. At least Stiles seemed like he was dealing with the distance better than he had before. Derek felt much the same, but at least when they talked on the phone Stiles didn’t sound so down. 

“One more week,” Stiles said as they FaceTimed. Derek was in for the night, checked into his hotel room and Stiles was the same. Stiles didn’t have a shirt on, his hair wet from a shower. “I get to see you in one week.” 

“I can’t wait,” Derek said, watching Stiles yawn. “You look tired.”

“Are you telling me I look like shit?” Stiles asked. 

“Never,” Derek admitted. “Even when you were sick I thought you looked fuckable.” 

“That’s so sweet,” Stiles preened, touching his chest with his hand, patting it. He watched Derek’s eyes linger. “You know what we could do?” 

“What’s that?” Derek asked, knowing the lilt to Stiles’ voice rather well: they were going to have FaceTime sex. It was a thing that happened, though rarely. It wasn’t often that both of them stayed at hotels on the same nights, but they tended to take advantage when they did. Usually they sent each other Snapchats when they could, completely private in nature considering they were mostly dick pics and ass pics. Earlier, Stiles had sent Derek one, an ass pic, where he’d taken it in the bathroom, his ass on display in the mirror. Derek missed that ass. 

“We could fuck,” Stiles sang. “If you took your shirt off.” 

“Just my shirt?”

“Cheeky fucker,” Stiles laughed. “Come on, jack off for me.” 

“That’s some dirty talk you have there,” Derek pointed out as he took his shirt off, putting his phone down for a moment. He went ahead and stripped down to his boxer briefs, situating himself against the headboard for easier vantage points and relaxation. Stiles had done the same, his hand already around his cock, stroking idly. 

“You’re impatient,” Derek said with a huff, though he was glad to see Stiles grinning. Derek watched as Stiles licked the palm of his hand, using that to wrap around his cock as Derek fondled his balls. They both watched each other, the sounds of their heavy breathing the only noise in the room. 

“Fuck,” Derek said, thinking about the feel of Stiles’ hands when he touched him, the way he moaned when Derek sunk his fingers into him. Stiles gasped over the video, letting out a moan that Derek knew well. 

“Derek,” Stiles said. “Wanna fuck you.” 

“You can,” Derek whispered. “You can fuck me.” 

“Please,” Stiles said, his fist moving quickly, teasing the head of his cock. “Fuck.” 

“Come on, Stiles,” Derek said, his chest heaving as he jacked off, his stomach clenching. “I want to see you come. 

“On my chest?” Stiles asked him, his eyes closed, head tilted back. 

“Yeah,” Derek said, his voice breaking. “On your chest.” 

Stiles licked his lips as he stroked himself through his orgasm, making a mess of his chest and hand. Derek came as he watched Stiles, jerking forward, letting out stilted breaths. Stiles hummed, smiling as he watched Derek. 

“That was hot,” Stiles pointed out after Derek rode out his orgasm, continuing to stroke himself until he began to soften in his own hand. “You’re amazing.”

“You took the words right out of my mouth,” Derek said. He got out of bed, stepping out of his dirtied underwear, he hadn’t even pushed them out of the way when he jacked off, merely fisted himself with them pulled away by his arm. He used them to wipe himself off as Stiles used a washcloth in the bathroom. 

Afterwards, they both laid in bed, talking to each other until they fell asleep. 

-

Derek didn’t get back into New York until a few hours before the album release party. Stiles had been in New York for only a day, and would be leaving again to go on album promotion immediately after. Stiles had been in interviews all day, and would be until the party itself. He tried to tell himself that seeing Stiles for a few moments would be enough, that he didn’t need more, but he knew it was a lie. Having to share Stiles in what little time he was in New York was hard. 

They were both in the same city, but he couldn’t see him. 

As if Stiles knew Derek was thinking about him, his phone rang. 

“Hey,” Derek said, not even trying to not sound desperate. “You on break?”

“Yeah, for a moment,” Stiles said. “I’ve managed to talk Lydia into letting you shadow us, so you should totally get your ass down here right the fuck now.” Derek grinned, knowing how relentless Stiles probably was to get that sort of answer out of Lydia. “You get a super cool VIP pass, it will go great with your eyes.” 

“Not a wrist band?” Derek joked as he locked his apartment door. 

“Not this time.”

“Shame,” Derek teased. “Send me the address where you are and I’ll get there as soon as I can.” 

“Perfect, see you soon.” 

-

Derek was lead straight to Lydia, who didn’t even look up from her phone when he was dropped off beside her with his VIP pass around his neck. Stiles was nowhere in sight but that didn’t mean he wasn’t nearby. When Lydia finally looked up at him, she sighed. 

“You, sir, are in high demand.” 

“I don’t think having one person beg for me to be here is a high demand,” Derek joked. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Lydia said, smirking at him. “Stiles ran his mouth off talking about you, and now everyone wants you two to do an interview together.” 

“Uh,” Derek said, shaking his head. “Today is about Marked & Bitten.”

“That’s what I told them,” Lydia said, eyeing him. “But you two could make good marketing.”

“We aren’t a gimmick.” 

“Oh, I know that, Stiles knows that, but I think there’s something to say about the fact that I can’t, off the top of my head, think of an openly gay young couple who are really in the spotlight.” Lydia looked at her nails instead of at Derek. “But that’s just me.” 

“Neil Patrick Harris,” Derek stated.

“I said young,” Lydia pointed out. “Just something to think about.” 

Stiles finished with an interview, followed by the rest of the band who traveled behind him because he was running towards Derek. They hugged, but didn’t kiss, because they were surrounded by press and PAs and no one that Derek knew but that didn’t stop him from hugging the fuck out of Stiles who was wearing his jacket, one of his shirts, and had bags under his eyes. Derek brushed his thumb across Stiles’ cheek. Stiles took Derek’s hand in his before they headed to the next interview, a cup of coffee was put in Stiles’ other hand. Stiles kissed Derek’s knuckles, teeth nipping at them. 

“I missed you,” Stiles said. “I know I say that every day, but it’s true.”

“I missed you more,” Derek whispered in Stiles’ ear. He knew they were being disgusting, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care because Stiles was in front of him and he was wearing Derek’s jacket, which fans had put two and two together with. He’d seen the Instagram posts where they pointed out Stiles and Derek’s wardrobe, circling articles of clothing that they shared. They had a keen eye, and the jacket was the most obvious piece. 

Derek stood next to Lydia throughout the interviews, just out of view, watching Stiles throughout. He was practically bouncing in his seat, and not from the coffee intake. Lydia was amused that Stiles brought Derek up as often as possible, even mentioned that Derek was with them. The interviewers ate it up, asking Stiles again and again about _Anchor_ , about the album as a whole and how the tour went. 

They had an hour before the party, which Stiles spent lying face down on a hotel room bed instead of showering while Derek ran his fingers through his hair. 

“I don’t want to go,” Stiles complained, his hand resting on top of Derek’s, their fingers linking on Stiles’ head. “Someone else should take my place.”

“We could clone you,” Derek suggested. 

“Orphan Black style,” Stiles said. “Only no, I don’t want that sort of crazy in my life.” 

“You should shower,” Derek said. Stiles groaned, rolling over so he could look up at Derek. 

“You should fuck me,” Stiles said, biting his lip. “Or I could fuck you, either way--”   
A knock at the door interrupted them. Stiles dramatically rolled onto his back, rolling his eyes as Derek answered the door; it was dinner. Stiles’ alarm on his phone went off as well, reminding him of the time. He groaned again. 

“I don’t want to,” Stiles said again. 

“If you shower, you’ll have time to eat and we can make out,” Derek suggested. Stiles took the fastest shower ever, record timing, then put on clean clothes, handing Derek his jacket before grabbing one of the sandwiches that were brought up. 

They made out in the car on the way to the party. 

Marked & Bitten played the entire album, signing autographs and taking selfies with all the fans afterward. Derek talked with Lydia not even ten feet away from Stiles as he sat at the autograph table. While he waited, Derek bought the album off of iTunes in support. There was an after party, with wristbands, tiered with different colors of neon indicating band and backstage access versus fans who were lucky enough to score one. 

There was alcohol, appetizers, and haze in the club. Stiles was surrounded by friends and fans, but kept Derek close by, his arm around Derek’s waist or shoulders as he leaned against a railing or table, always with a drink in his hand even though Derek took note that Stiles barely drank it, choosing to remain sober even though it was his night to celebrate. 

It was late when the party ended, and Derek could tell that Stiles was dead on his feet. Derek, too, felt like he could fall asleep standing up. They crashed at Stiles and Scott’s, stripping down to their boxer briefs before crawling into bed, curling against each other. 

“I love you,” Stiles said, resting his chin on Derek’s shoulder in the darkness. “I was surrounded by all those people, had so many people tell me how they loved me and all I could think about was that I loved you, and that it’s been killing me being so far away.” Derek sighed, wrapping his arm around Stiles, kissing his forehead. 

“I love you too,” Derek said. “You are busy, have been so busy, but we found time for each other. We’ll continue to do the same... but it’s been killing me too.” Stiles squeezed him, sighing out his breath as he closed his eyes. 

“I don’t want to leave again already.” 

“Blame Lydia.”

“Oh, I do,” Stiles laughed. “Believe me, I do.” 

“Lydia mentioned something to me,” Derek said. “About us.”

“What about us?” Stiles asked, sitting up slightly. Derek could barely make out his form in the darkness, but he could imagine Stiles’ frown. 

“Nothing bad, just about how there aren’t really-- many gay couples who are in the spotlight and I was thinking about how I would feel if I was someone, like a teenager, who saw someone I looked up to out and happy and I just-- I don’t know. I would have loved to see that.” 

“Representation,” Stiles murmured. Derek could hear him yawning as he laid back down. “I would have loved that, you know, knowing that I wasn’t alone and that if someone else could do it then so could I, but I don’t know if I am that person, or could be.”

“I think you could,” Derek said. “You’ve already paved the way for us, I don’t know. I think it’s important to show people that we are a real couple, that happy gay couples exist.” 

Stiles laughed. 

“We aren’t just some sad plot point in independent films. I mean why is it that every gay story has to be sad? It seems like anytime there is a movie with a gay theme it’s sad as fuck and someone usually ends up dying? I don’t want death, I want happiness like You’ve Got Mail, only with two guys and less Godfather references in the emails.”

“Stiles,” Derek said. “You got off topic.”

“Sorry, you’re right, Godfather references are okay. But I’m Meg Ryan here; you are Tom Hanks.”

“What if I wanted to be Meg Ryan?” Derek asked, affronted. “Small bookshop owner.” 

“I’m not running Fox Books,” Stiles said, groaning as he rubbed his face. “We are so off topic.” 

“Not every gay story has to be sad,” Derek reiterated. “Ours isn’t sad.”

“No,” Stiles said, his hand on Derek’s chest. “Ours isn’t sad.” 

-

The good thing about Marked & Bitten being on shows like Jimmy Fallon, Stephen Colbert, and Saturday Night Live was the fact that they all were in New York. Blue Pagan was in the studio the week that M&B filmed the tv spots, which meant that Stiles and Derek got to sleep in the same bed at night for the first time in a month and a half. M&B were gearing up for their first headline tour, promoting the fuck out of their album while Derek had the wonders of recording to look forward to.   
Derek went to the Saturday Night Live recording, because it was monumental. M&B was even put into a sketch, which Stiles hadn’t stopped talking about all week. 

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Stiles said, wide-eyed in the dressing room as makeup was being applied to him. “I can’t believe it.” 

“You keep saying that,” Derek said with a smirk. “You said it when the album went gold--”

“That fact still stands true, what the fuck is happening?” Stiles asked. “How do numbers even work, how are this many people-- I’m going on SNL.” 

“You are,” the makeup artist, Sarah, said, holding Stiles’ chin. “Now hold still.” Stiles stilled, though his leg bounced. “Breathe through your nose, out through your mouth, you’re starting to hyperventilate.” Derek watched Stiles do just that. 

It was becoming more frequent, Stiles getting nervous, his anxiety rising with the fame that came with their number one album. At night, when Derek held Stiles in his arms, Stiles whispered about not feeling worthy, all of his self doubt and being scared he’ll fuck it up. 

During the day, Stiles smiled for cameras, laughed during interviews, and lived off of coffee. SNL was a big deal, but so was a headline tour. Derek wished he could spend more time with Stiles while he was in New York, though briefly, but his job came first; both of their bands came first. 

Derek was in the audience for the tapping. He brought Cora with him. Tom Hardy hosted, and Cora wouldn’t let Derek live down the fact that he got a picture with him and Stiles backstage during the dress rehearsal. 

“Such bullshit,” Cora said as she looked at Derek’s instagram. The picture he’d posted of him, Stiles, and Tom Hardy had eight thousand likes. “I can’t believe you met him.” 

“Of all the people I’ve met--”

“You don’t understand my love of Tom Hardy at all.”

“It has to do with the dogs, doesn’t it?” Derek said with a smirk. “I know this because Stiles is the same way about the dogs.” 

“It’s so fucking cute,” Cora sighed, putting her phone away. “And so is the fact that you posted a picture of you and Stiles together on Instagram.” 

Derek hadn’t thought of that fact. It was casual and not at all ‘in your face’, which got Derek thinking. The sketch with M&B was hilarious, and Stiles’ acting beside Tom Hardy was a sight to behold. They played _You Will Never Know_ followed by _Anchor_ in the second half of the show. 

Afterwards, Cora took a selfie with Derek, tagging him in it for laughs. Derek scowled when fans started commenting on it, freaking out that Derek was at the SNL recording and that they couldn’t wait to see M&B play. Deep down, he found it amusing, but mostly he side-eyed his sister. 

“I just gained like, a hundred followers,” Cora cackled. “I’m using you for my own gain.” 

“That’s not new,” Derek pointed out. They walked towards backstage together, Derek handing Cora a pass that Stiles had gotten for her. Derek was stopped by a fan, asking for a picture before they headed back; he couldn’t say no. 

“Want me to take it?” Cora offered. 

“Thank you so much,” the fan said, shaking as she handed Cora her phone. Derek put his arm around her, smiling for the picture. 

Backstage, Stiles was practically bouncing off the walls, but then again so was Scott, Allison, and Kira. They had champagne. Lydia stood off to the side, her phone in her hand like always, a flute of champagne in the other. When Stiles kissed Derek, he grinned. 

“We hit platinum,” Stiles whispered. “Just found out.”

“Holy shit,” Cora said. “That’s amazing.” 

“Congratulations,” Derek said, kissing Stiles again. “You deserve it.” Stiles preened, his eyes closing as he held onto Derek. Inside, Derek knew that Stiles didn’t really believe that he was worth it, but Derek didn’t mind reminding him over and over again that this was real, and that he could do anything. 

-

It was Erica who wanted to ask Stiles, which Derek didn’t have a problem with at all. The problem was waiting for Erica to get around to doing the asking, because Derek wasn’t very good at keeping secrets. He got cagey, and Stiles was beginning to notice something was off. 

“You’re being weird,” Stiles said, his bare foot shoving against Derek’s thigh as they watched Netflix in a rare evening alone. “Stop it.” 

“Weird how?” Derek asked, taking Stiles’ foot in his hand, massaging it in hopes to distract Stiles. Erica said she was going to text Stiles to meet them in the morning. M&B were heading out on tour soon, and time was running out. 

“Like you’re holding back something,” Stiles complained. “Are you pregnant?” 

Derek laughed, shaking his head as he rolled his eyes. “No.”

“Are you breaking up with me?” 

“What?” Derek asked, his eyebrows raising. “Don’t even joke about that.” 

“I’m not joking,” Stiles mumbled. “You’re quiet, we haven’t fucked in days--”

“We can fuck right now if you want,” Derek said, his hand sliding up Stiles’ calf. “We’ve been busy.” 

“That didn’t stop us before,” Stiles said, his legs spreading wide. “But something’s up,” he said as he sat up, straddling Derek’s lap, his hands cupping Derek’s face. “I want you to tell me.” Derek bit his lip as Stiles looked into his eyes, pleading. Derek would give Stiles the entire world if he could. 

“I promised Erica she could ask you,” Derek confessed with a sigh.

“Ask me what?” 

Derek sighed again as Stiles narrowed his eyes at him. Then, he got out his phone, dialing Erica’s number. 

“Stiles,” Erica said. “I was just about to text you.” 

“You’ve broken my boyfriend,” Stiles said, pouting at Derek as he tugged at his hair. Derek held onto Stiles’ waist, a hand roaming to his ass. Stiles lifted an eyebrow at him. “All I could get out of him was that you’re going to ask me something.”

“God, he can’t keep a fucking secret to save his life,” Erica groaned. “I wanted to meet over coffee and talk and now I have to do it over the phone, that’s no fun at all.” 

“I promise to take you to coffee, now: out with it.” 

“Blue Pagan would like you to feature on our new album.” Derek watched Stiles’ shocked facial expression, his eyes on Derek as his mouth opened, gaping like a fish. “Do you want to sing a song for us, Stiles?” Stiles sunk down on Derek’s thighs, no longer holding himself up. He also leaned forward, placing his head on Derek’s shoulder. 

“Yes,” Stiles said. “I’d love that.” 

“Great, perfect. We’d like to get you in before you leave us for months.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles said, sounding dazed. Derek’s hands roamed Stiles’ back, fingers trailing down his spine. “Sure thing, but first I have to fuck my boyfriend.” Erica laughed. “Coffee tomorrow morning, before I have practice.” 

“Ah, sunrise,” Erica said with a sigh. “The perfect time for coffee.” 

When Stiles hung up, he tossed his phone, immediately kissing Derek, his body moving against Derek’s. 

“You mother fucker,” Stiles said, tugging Derek’s shirt over his head. “You had me thinking something was wrong.” 

“I’m sorry,” Derek said, discarding Stiles’ shirt alongside his own. “I’m sorry,” he said again after kissing Stiles’ lips. 

“Fuck,” Stiles said, taking control of the situation. “I’ve been worried, you asshole,” Stiles hissed, his teeth raking across Derek’s stubbled chin. Derek groaned as Stiles sucked on his neck, his hips grinding down against Derek’s growing erection. “I thought you were done with my bullshit.” 

Stiles’ hands were everywhere, touching Derek affectionately, but not as delicately as he usually did. This was body worship, but a harsher version where Stiles’ teeth left marks, his movements hungry and lewd. It turned Derek on as Stiles slid off of him and onto his knees, blowing Derek sloppily, mouth open and hand wrapped around Derek’s cock. 

There was no condom, which was a new development. They’d been mutually exclusive for months, but had kept up with the safe sex until recently when they both got tested. Having Stiles’ mouth around his cock without the condom was heaven. Derek loved Stiles’ mouth, dreamt of it when they were apart, and knowing how talented Stiles’ tongue was without the thin film of the condom between them was enough to make his balls tighten. 

“You’re going to fuck me,” Stiles stated, his mouth red and swollen. “Hard.” 

“Okay,” Derek said, nodding his head though he could barely think. “Here or bed?” 

“Bed,” Stiles said, standing up as he wiped his mouth. As he walked towards Derek’s bedroom, he stripped down the rest of the way, leaving a trail of clothes behind him. Derek followed suit, taking his jeans off. Stiles tossed a condom and lube onto the bed. They both agreed that condoms were still necessary during anal; it was safer for the both of them, less messy. 

“I mean it,” Stiles said as he uncapped the lube. He was on his knees, legs spread as he looked Derek in the eye, prepping himself. “Hard.” 

“I heard you,” Derek said. He rolled the condom on, then kissed Stiles, biting down on his lip. Stiles bit back, his nails digging into Derek’s skin. Derek jacked Stiles off a few times before maneuvering him onto his hands and knees, forcing his face against the mattress so his back arched. Derek slid into him, groaning at how tight Stiles was with little prep. Stiles moaned, hands braced out beside him. “You’re going to be on my album,” Derek said as he fucked into him, making Stiles whimper. “Your voice and my violin.” Stiles panted as Derek held onto his waist, fucking him hard and fast. “A song that I wrote.” 

“Fuck,” Stiles said, moaning as Derek slowed down, though the intensity was still there as he fucked him deep. “Fuck, yes.” Stiles moved his hips with each thrust, meeting Derek’s hips with a loud smack each time. 

Derek pulled Stiles up to him so that they were back to front, with Stiles’ back to Derek’s chest. He wrapped his arms around Stiles’ stomach as he fucked up into him. Stiles stroked himself off as Derek bit his shoulder, sucking on it as Stiles’ head rest back against Derek’s shoulder. 

Stiles came first, his ass clenching. Derek slowed for a moment, letting Stiles ride his climax before continuing, fucking him until he, too, came. They collapsed together on the bed afterwards, breathing heavily, limbs too heavy to move. 

“Thank you,” Stiles said eventually, his fingers ghosting down Derek’s arm. “I needed that.” Derek turned his head so he could look at him, satiated. 

“For you, anything,” Derek said, his eyes going to the bite mark that was so clearly outlined on Stiles’ shoulder.


	10. Chapter 10

Stiles found little things to keep him occupied while on tour. He liked to get up early, considering how late they usually stayed up, and walk around whatever town he found himself in. He got a coffee, alone, usually finding a locally owned bookshop. He went through books rapidly, about a book every day and a half, so he was always on the lookout for new ones.

Most of the time he went unnoticed when he walked around aimlessly, but sometimes fans recognized him. His Instagram tag was full of fan encounters and reposts of said encounters, along with reposts of pictures that he and Derek had posted together. 

They were simple, really, like a picture they took in Central Park together, one of Stiles sitting in Derek’s luggage before a trip, a silhouette of them during sunset on top of a roof at some party Stiles couldn’t remember most of. 

Most of the tour was sold out, or close to selling out. It had been almost a year since M&B went on tour with Blue Pagan, a year since they skyrocketed to fame. It was like that was an entirely different life than the one Stiles was currently living. His worries weren’t the same, his concerns leaning more on privacy and his voice sounding good and what he said during interviews instead of about having enough money for rent or if Jake would be mad about Stiles not texting back immediately. 

That was another thing: his relationship with Derek wasn’t one that he’d had before. He and Derek were good, really good, despite the distance. They fell into a routine of FaceTime and Snapchats where they updated each other about their days. Stiles snapped Derek a picture of his book finds, and in return Stiles got a shot of Derek’s view. 

He hadn’t had a relationship that was based on whatever he and Derek were to each other. In the past it was mutual lust, a need to be wanted, desperation not to be alone that lead Stiles to heartache and feeling inadequate. He needed someone to be with, and that left him vulnerable up until Derek. Derek, who knew exactly what to say, who called first, who didn’t mind texts at four in the morning when Stiles was too drunk to have an intelligent conversation but tried anyways because he missed his boyfriend. 

Stiles wrote about his heartache, about his fucked up relationships and that was what drew people to Marked & Bitten, because despite the upbeat tempo of the songs, Stiles’ lyrics didn’t hold back. They gave his perspective so openly, he didn’t hesitate in talking about casual hook ups, about the pressure in society, about fucking up relationship after relationship, about being treated badly but wanting more because he wasn’t sure what else there was. 

And then there was _Anchor_ , the song he wrote about Derek. It stood out on the album, and was a talk piece in interviews when they didn’t know what else to talk about. He and Derek were out on display, seemingly free reign as far as topics go. Stiles didn’t mind it, because he didn’t want to lie about who he was, and who he was currently was shaped in part by Derek. 

He was more confident, less depressed, and felt freer. It reminded Stiles of a butterfly metaphor, but he wasn’t about to tell anyone else that. 

Marked & Bitten were on the last leg of their nationwide tour, about to have a short break before festival season. Stiles was exhausted to the point that his alarms were used for everything. He napped wisely, drank honey in his tea daily, and was constantly on vocal rest. Blue Pagan released their sophomore album, but Stiles couldn’t attend the party because he was in the middle of nowhere Oklahoma, on his way to the next gig. 

The first single off the album was the one that he sang on, the song that Derek wrote. ‘Believe’ was slowly climbing the charts, and Stiles found himself humming it to himself in the shower the last day of the tour. Twenty-four hours and he would get to see Derek in person. Of course, it was the longest day imaginable. The hours dragged by, the soundcheck a blur, meeting fans post show took forever because Stiles took pictures with each of them because it was the last night and he was emotional and thanked each and every one of them who had stayed an hour and a half after the show to meet him. 

They flew back to New York on a red eye; Stiles couldn’t sleep despite how exhausted he was because he couldn’t think of anything except sleeping beside Derek. He was on the brink of collapsing when he got to Derek’s apartment at nine in the morning. When Derek opened the door, Stiles let out a choked sob. Derek was in sweatpants and nothing else. Stiles dropped his bag, his eyes closing as Derek wrapped his arms around him. 

Stiles breathed Derek in, his body relaxing immediately. Derek didn’t let him go, but Stiles didn’t want him to. He wanted to stay there, right there in Derek’s arms in the doorway of the apartment. He could live there and be perfectly happy. Derek kissed him, didn’t say anything about how Stiles smelled of plane and pot from the concert; he hadn’t showered in almost twenty four hours, or brushed his teeth but Derek didn’t care as they kissed. He smelled of travel, of concert stench, but Derek brought him to bed. 

“I love you,” Stiles whispered again and again, pulling Derek close as he kicked off his shoes. He didn’t even get beneath the covers of the bed, his head hitting Derek’s pillow as their legs tangled. He fell asleep within moments, enveloped by Derek’s scent; of being home. 

-

Stiles didn’t wake up until almost sunset, his internal clock forever fucked up. Derek was in the kitchen, dressed, when Stiles emerged after showering and brushing his teeth. 

“The beast awakens,” Derek joked. Stiles yawned as he looked over Derek’s shoulder, looking at what he was cooking. Stiles’ stomach growled. “‘Feed me’, it says.” 

“I’m starving,” Stiles said, resting his chin on Derek’s shoulder. “Please tell me it’s almost done.” 

“Your wish is my command,” Derek said, kissing Stiles. It was a luxury, kissing Derek, that Stiles never tired of. 

Blue Pagan was gearing up for their own tour, which was intermixed with the festivals. M&B were only doing the festivals, which Stiles was thankful for, but he didn’t like that Derek would be leaving almost as soon as he got home himself. He was starting to think their band managers were out to thwart them, though he knew that wasn’t true. It just felt like it when they had three days together and that was it, especially when he had spent one of those days passed out on Derek’s bed. He lead a very glamorous life. 

They ate stir fry together on the couch, with Stiles’ feet in Derek’s lap while Sons of Anarchy played in the background because Derek was finally getting around to watching it. Afterwards, they fucked on the couch. Luckily they were both semi-dressed when Erica showed up. 

“Come on, losers, we’re going to a party.” 

“No,” Stiles said, elongating it. He was draped across the couch, pouting in just his briefs. “No parties, only no pants time.”

“You can wear whatever you want, Stiles, but we’re going to this party.”

“Why?” Derek asked. “Come on, Erica,” he said. “I haven’t seen Stiles in over a month.” 

“Stiles can come,” Erica pointed out. “You can see each other there, too. Check your phone, I bet that Scott texted you about it.” Sure enough, there was a text from Scott, only it said: ‘you don’t have to come out, we can promo without you.’

“What is it?” Stiles asked. “I didn’t know about any party before right now.”

“It’s a last minute thing,” Erica said, looking in Derek’s fridge for something to munch on. “Come on, let’s go.” 

“No,” Stiles said, showing Derek the text. “I’m putting my foot down. Unless Lydia shows up and pulls me kicking and screaming, I’m not leaving.” Erica gave Derek a look like he could sway Stiles’ decision. 

“I agree with Stiles,” Derek said, rubbing an eye. “If it’s not official, I don’t want to do it. Months, Erica, it’s been months. I’ve done everything, I’ve gone to so many openings and gigs and art shows... can’t we just have a night alone?” 

“Don’t forget who I was in bumfuck nowhere during your album launch--”

“And how we missed our one year anniversary,” Derek pointed out. Stiles scowled; he didn’t like thinking about that. 

“Fine,” Erica said without any malice. “You two fuck like bunnies, I’m going to go get drunk because it’s open bar.”

“Be safe,” Derek said seriously. 

“I’ll have Boyd with me,” Erica said, winking. “I’ll see you at band practice tomorrow.” 

“I’ll be there,” Derek said. With that, Erica left them alone once more. Stiles didn’t look at Derek as silence hung heavy in the room. 

“Stiles--”

“We missed our anniversary,” Stiles whispered. 

“It’s okay,” Derek said. “It’s just a stupid date, it’s arbitrary.”

“It’s a big deal, and we didn’t even acknowledge it,” Stiles pointed out. “What was even happening that day? Was I in Milwaukee? Were you here alone and just-- fuck.”

“Stiles, it’s okay,” Derek said. “I was in Vancouver, you were in Des Moines, it’s fine it doesn’t matter. What matters is that you are here, right now, and we have the night to ourselves.”

“I feel like I have no control over my life,” Stiles said, biting his bottom lip. “I feel like I never see you, and the fact that Erica thought it was okay to just barge in and demand you to go out--”

“To be fair, she does it all the time when you aren’t here, too,” Derek admitted. “But I understand why you’re mad. We don’t have a lot of time together, and she knows that.” 

“The band is always first,” Stiles said. “I want to scream. If I go on Instagram and see one more photo of me on the subway taken discreetly I’m gonna hurl. What’s so interesting about me holding coffee and my phone?” Stiles asked. “I’m just a normal person, I eat and shit just like everyone else does.” 

“Stiles,” Derek said, sitting down next to him on the couch. Stiles made room for Derek. “You’re exhausted after a long tour.” Derek put his fingers through Stiles’ ever growing hair, kissing him. “Everything seems a lot harder than it actually is. Scott texted you that you can stay in, so that’s what we’re doing. Erica always tries to drag me out when I don’t have to go, and I said no. People feel attached to you because of your music, and get excited when they see you around New York. Would you take a picture if you saw John Barrowman on the subway?” 

“Maybe,” Stiles said, making a face. “Ugh, but he’s John Barrowman, you know? I’m just Stiles Stilinski, sheriff’s kid from California who struck gold in New York.” 

“So said anyone who rose to fame. I’m just a guy who happens to play violin, who majored in economics and was supposed to go on to business but here I am, in a band.”

“I just want time to decompress,” Stiles admitted. “I want time to just spend in bed, or to go on a date, to Netflix and chill.” 

“We were watching Netflix earlier,” Derek pointed out. “I think that counts.” 

“Maybe if we fuck again,” Stiles said with a grin. Derek kissed him and they forgot about Erica’s interruption for the time being. 

-

After two days of marathon sex and loads upon loads of laundry, Stiles found himself at his and Scott’s apartment in a mood because Derek had left to go on tour. Stiles had done so much laundry he didn’t know what to do with so many clean clothes. He wasn’t even sure what was really his and what was Derek’s at this point, but it didn’t really matter. He put things in piles, folding them according to some unknown order that didn’t even make sense to him, really. 

There was a definite ‘yes’ pile for clothes he wanted to take to festivals, a ‘Derek’ pile of clothes to take back to Derek’s, and then a bunch of other piles that had no real meaning behind them. 

Life in New York without Derek was weird. It was like tour, because there was an emptiness where Derek belonged, only Stiles had time to see friends he hadn’t seen in months, to go to the movies and catch up on the life that was put on hold when he traveled. He flew to California to see his dad for his birthday, sticking around for Blue Pagan’s concert in San Diego. 

He didn’t see Derek again until South by Southwest in Texas, the first festival of the season. There was a great line up, and it was M&B’s first festival. With a wristband on and a beer in his hand, Stiles walked around practically unnoticed. There were so many people it was easy to get lost in the crowd. He had Derek with him, after fucking in the hotel room, their fingers linked together as they walked together. 

Blue Pagan went on first between the two bands, on a different stage then M&B were going to be on, but they had plenty of time to roam around before Derek needed to be backstage for his set. They made out in public, because it didn’t matter. In a sea of bodies, they were just like everyone else. It was exactly what Stiles needed to feel normal, like everyone else. 

Stiles watched Blue Pagan’s set from backstage, singing along to the lyrics, watching Derek sway with the music as he played his violin mixed into the electronic sound of Blue Pagan. Their style was unique, and it worked well. Stiles was beyond excited that not only were they both doing South By Southwest together, but other festivals as well. 

Derek watched M&B’s set as well. Something about Derek being there and watching had Stiles dancing more lewdly than he normally did, showing off for him. Afterwards, they got drunk, which is what you did at a festival considering both of their bands’ sets were finished before sundown. 

“I’ve decided that I like festivals,” Stiles said, an arm draped over Derek’s shoulders as they walked through the crowd. 

“Do you now?” Derek asked, his hand slyly slipped in Stiles’ back pocket. Stiles grinned, most of his weight being held up by Derek at this point. “I couldn’t tell.” 

“Surrounded by music, my boyfriend, and the ability to become invisible in a crowd of people? Sign me up for all of them.” 

“We’ll get to see each other more than we have since we toured together”, Derek pointed out. “Coachella is in a few weeks.”

“That reminds me,” Stiles said. “I’m coming to your LA show.”

“The one before Coachella,” Derek said. Stiles nodded his head, smirking as he kissed him. “Are you staying with us until Coachella, then?” 

“If you’ll have me.”

“You don’t need to ask.” 

-

Stiles couldn’t be in the crowd at Blue Pagan’s show. He tried at the beginning, but was swarmed. Instead, he stood just off stage, watching with a perfect view of Derek. He’d gotten into LA the day before, with time enough to spend with Derek between soundchecks and a radio interview. 

After the show, almost an hour and a half after Blue Pagan had walked off the stage, the band made their way outside, along with Stiles, towards their bus. Stiles was stopped as much as the rest of the band, no one seemingly surprised that he was there. 

“Can I get a picture of both of you?” A fan asked after Stiles took a selfie with them. 

“I don’t see why not,” Stiles said, shrugging. “Derek, come here.” The picture wasn’t awkward, but Stiles didn’t really understand why they wanted both he and Derek in the picture until after they were on the bus, on the way to the hotel when he got on Instagram and saw the pictures that were just taken pop up. He couldn’t help but look, his curiosity getting the better of him. 

“Did you know that we have a portmanteau?” Stiles asked Derek. 

“We have a what now?” Derek asked, looking up from his phone. He’d been playing a game on his phone with one arm draped over Stiles’ shoulders. They touched as often as possible, even if it was just their thighs or arms. 

“You know, like Brangelina.” 

“So we have one, you’re saying.” Stiles showed Derek his phone, where the fan they’d just taken a picture with smushed their names together with a heart emoji. “Weird.” 

“It’s interesting,” Stiles said, scrolling through more pictures, liking a few of them before putting his phone away, pulling his leg up against his chest and resting his chin on it. “It’s weird to think about it sort of like a celebrity couple?” 

“We don’t have paps coming after us, thank fuck,” Derek said. “At least not when we aren’t doing promo.” 

“Yeah,” Stiles said, biting his lip. “That would suck.” 

-

“Hello, Coachella!” Stiles said as he bounced across the stage. “I’d always wanted to go to Coachella, you know? Growing up it was the place to be. It’s crazy to be here now, anyways this next song is called _Anchor_. It’s about my boyfriend, who’s here,” Stiles said as he pointed backstage where Derek was. He winked before he sang it, pumped up because the massive crowd reacted to everything he did or said. 

There was nothing like the feeling of hearing an entire crowd of people singing along to his lyrics, his songs. If he clapped, they clapped along with him, if he bounced and threw his hands in the air they mimicked him. It was a good power to possess, and it made him laugh, grinning his way through the lyrics. 

After his set was through, they stayed backstage where M&B were due to have an interview. Stiles downed an entire bottle, his sunglasses on top of his head for the moment before returning them to his face. 

The interview itself was quite normal, the usual and didn’t stand out in the slightest with it’s questions. Stiles’ favorites were when they did something out of the ordinary to break up the monotony of it all. Well, it was until the end when the interviewer, a woman named Stacy, asked Stiles if he and Derek would be interested in doing an interview together. 

“I’m sorry, what?” Stiles asked, his eyes wide. Derek was within earshot, had been there throughout the entire interview. Blue Pagan didn’t go on for hours yet, so there was no need for he and Stiles to be separated. 

“I’d like to interview the two of you, if that was alright.” 

Stiles exchanged a look with Derek, silently communicating with him, or attempting to. Stiles wasn’t a mind reader, but Derek’s shrug told him all that he needed to know. 

“Sure,” Stiles said, checking his phone. Derek sat down beside Stiles and they had to share a microphone. They sat close, their thighs together as Stiles wiped his hands down his jeans. 

“This is Stacy, and I’ve got _the_ Stiles Stilinski from Marked  & Bitten with me, along with his boyfriend Derek Hale of Blue Pagan. Thanks so much for sitting down with me, you guys.” 

“No problem,” Stiles said, attempting not to let his leg bounce, his heart beating fast. He had no idea what to expect from this interview, now. 

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but you two have been together for a year now, right?” 

“Something like that,” Derek said. Stiles let him have the microphone, smiling despite the sweat on his palms.

“What’s that like, both being in bands and touring around separately?”

“It’s hard,” Derek said, looking at Stiles. “It has it’s downfalls, but the good thing about it is that we’re both in a band and both understand the schedule and how shitty it can be, but we’ve worked out a system that works for us.” 

“That’s so great,” Stacy said, giving them a warm smile. “That’s so good to hear, and to have you two be so open about it is so important. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I can’t really think of anyone else that has come out and been as open as you two have been.”

“That’s something we’ve talked about a bit,” Stiles found himself saying. Derek put the microphone closer to him. “That we think it was important to be open about our relationship because we’re people, you know, and have lives and there shouldn’t be any reason that we can’t show that it’s possible to be in the public eye and be happy.” 

“Inspirational, truly,” Stacy said. “Tell me, because I’ve been dying to know, who of you two is the more romantic one.” Stiles made a face, he was sure of it, because he knew it wasn’t him. 

“I’m not sure, actually,” Stiles said. “I think, well, we do romantic things a little different than normal couples would. To me, it’s romantic when he answers my calls at three in the morning, or when I find a present hidden in my luggage.” 

“That’s so sweet,” Stacy said. “So Derek, you’re the more romantic one? Sneaking things in his luggage.”

“That was once,” Derek said. “I don’t know, I think he’s the more romantic one over all, dedicating songs to me whenever I’m backstage.”

“Like he did today,” Stacy pointed out. “It definitely made me swoon a bit.” Stiles cheeks reddened. “Thank you, guys for sitting down with me today.”

“Thanks for having us,” Stiles said, finally allowing his leg to bounce once the filming stopped. Derek put his arm around him. 

“That was amazing,” Stacy said. “I mean it, I’ve been watching you too on social media, and the buzz around you is so positive, it’s great to see representation in the music industry that isn’t surrounded by suppressing sexuality.” Stiles lit up, shaking her hand genuinely. 

“Thanks Stacy, you let my manager know any time you’d like an interview.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a lot of feelings about this chapter.

The Governor's Ball in New York was a big deal for Stiles. Well, he was sure it was a big deal for a lot of people, but playing the Governor’s Ball was up there with winning a Grammy in his mind, and to be among the big name bands was confounding to him. It was the only festival he’d ever attended as a ticket holder in the past, but now he was on stage. 

Most of the time he tried not to think about then versus now, because that’s when he thought a little too much, his anxiety bubbling up from wherever he pressed it down from. The summer had been full of festivals like Beal Street in Memphis to Electric Disco Carnival which had been a few weeks prior, also in New York. 

It felt good to be home, to be playing smaller sets for a little while as his body recuperate. Tour wasn’t for everyone, and it was hard on the body. Stiles had been sick more in the last few months than he ever had been in his entire life with anything from a sinus infection, ear infection, and multiple viruses. He now used antibacterial gel constantly after meeting fans because traveling when sick might be his least favorite thing ever. 

M&B were one of the first bands of the day, opening the music festival. Stiles was glad they were first, so he could spend the rest of the day roaming around and hanging out backstage. The set was only thirty minutes long, give or take a few minutes, which was the usual for festivals. The crowds were rowdier than normal, though, Stiles found. He blamed days full of sunlight or pouring rain mixed with mass amounts of alcohol and other substances. 

“Thank you for having us!” Stiles said, waving before he walked off stage with a bottle of water in his hand. The crowd roared behind him as he took his ear pieces out, playing with them before handing them off to the A2 who waited just off stage for his gear. 

In the green room, Derek wasn’t waiting for him. 

Stiles frowned, but said nothing as his bandmates went about talking and patting down with towels. He took his phone out, checking it to find no messages from Derek. Blue Pagan went on later, with plenty of time to spend together. Derek had been backstage for _Anchor_ , Stiles had seen him there. Stiles resisted calling Derek for ten minutes, shuffling off into a corner of the green room with his phone up to one ear and finger pressed against the other so he could hear. 

There wasn’t an answer. 

“Stiles,” Scott said. “Come on, man, we’re going out there. Come with us.”

“Yeah, alright,” Stiles said, looking at his phone once more before putting it away. He knew Derek was somewhere, he just had no idea where. With beer in hand, Stiles followed Scott out into the crowd. Stiles got a few strange looks, like they’d recognized him but wasn’t sure if it was real or what he was doing out in the crowd. 

Things had shifted again, after Stacy’s interview with them surfaced. Stiles had been approached by magazines like OUT among others, who suddenly wanted interviews. Stiles was thrust into the limelight even further, talking about he and Derek along with his stance on using male pronouns in his lyrics and LGBT+ rights. Stiles was passionate about LGBT+, whether it be gay, lesbian, transgender, bisexual, asexuals-- Stiles was all inclusive in his advocacy for rights and equality. If an interviewer really wanted a lengthy conversation with Stiles, all they had to do was bring up LGBT+ and he wouldn’t shut up about it. 

Apparently social media ate it up. Sure, there was some who didn’t like what Stiles had to say, but those people were filtered out, or so few and far between that they got lost in the sea of at replies and pleas for attention. 

Derek stayed in the shadows, not being a frontman for a band but a violinist, he wasn’t getting the attention or exposure that Stiles was. Part of Stiles wanted to drag Derek with him, so that they would be beside each other, but the other knew that some semblance of privacy was good to have. 

Stiles was found about ten minutes into walking through the crowd. He’d never really been bombarded before, but he found himself surrounded by fans asking for pictures and autographs. Stiles signed arms, boobs, wrists, backs-- he just tried not to think about the swelling crowd around him because if he did he’d have a panic attack. He drank his beer, the buzz not nearly enough for the amount of people grabbing at him and vying for his attention. He had no idea where Scott got off to. 

“Scotty?” Stiles called out into the crowd. He locked eyes with a fan who looked like they were about to cry. Stiles’ chest tightened. He was empathetic, and other people’s emotions affected him greatly especially when they were fans. “Please don’t cry,” Stiles said, reaching a hand out. “I promise you I’m just like you.” His hands were shaking because that didn’t help the fan at all. They asked for a hug, which he gave freely, patting their back in hopes of calming them down before he freaked out. 

He checked his phone; still nothing. 

“I’ve got to go, guys,” Stiles said, signing one more arm. “I’m sorry.” 

Getting out was difficult, but they let him by, though reluctantly. Stiles held onto his chest as he headed towards the closest backstage entrance, he didn’t even care what stage he was at. He showed his bracelet indicating that he was an artist so security would let him through. As soon as he was in a green room with a bottle of water he collapsed onto a couch, closing his eyes. 

“Fuck,” he said to no one. He tried to call Derek again; voicemail. Stiles bit his lip, opening up Twitter. He had an idea. ‘Has anyone seen my boyfriend?’ Stiles tweeted. His Twitter blew up immediately. He scrolled through the replies, most of which were just the word ‘hi’ and a few ‘I can be your boyfriend Stiles’. Hopefully Derek would see it, where ever he was. 

Stiles had no idea where he was, so he called Scott, who also didn’t answer, and then Lydia.

“Stiles,” Lydia said. “Where are you?”

“I have no clue,” Stiles said. “In a green room.” 

“Scott said he lost you in the crowd,” Lydia said. “He was afraid you’d been eaten alive.” 

“Almost was,” Stiles said honestly. “Remind me not to do that again, though I’m not sure how to get to you guys.” 

“Go up to a security guard and have them bring you to us.” 

“That doesn’t sound like a good idea, I’m sure they have better things to do.” Stiles looked down at his arm: he had a bruise forming from where a fan grabbed at him. “Okay, fine, I’ll do it.” 

Stiles hung up with Lydia, didn’t really want to bug the security about escorting him, but considering he didn’t want to wander around again, it was his only choice. Stiles went to the bathroom first, washing his hands thoroughly so he wouldn’t get sick, then went to find someone who looked like they knew what was up. 

Of course, he ran into Derek on accident. 

“Oh my god,” Stiles said. Derek had a beer in hand, his head thrown back as he laughed. He tried in vain to not project his emotions out onto Derek, his frustration about being left stranded by Scott in the crowd, about Derek not being there when he got off stage. When Derek saw him, he smiled so openly that Stiles forgot momentarily how upset he’d been. Derek motioned with an arm for Stiles to come closer so he could put his arm around him. 

“You found me,” Derek said, his hand on Stiles’ shoulder grounding him. 

“You made it rather hard,” Stiles said, looking at the crowd Derek was hanging out with. Derek introduced them all, old college friends who made it big into the Grunge Pop scene. Apparently Derek hadn’t seen them in ages and had gotten a text in the middle of Stiles’ set. After, his phone had died. 

Stiles was only a little bit agitated. 

“Don’t you have a set you should be getting to?” Stiles asked after they continued standing around talking. He looked at his phone, the time nearing Derek’s set. 

“I’m pretty sure my call time is in five minutes,” Derek said, finishing his beer. “We should probably head that way. They said bye to everyone, making their way to Derek’s stage the back way, not going out into the crowd at all. It was like a maze, and Derek directed them flawlessly. Stiles had a shit sense of direction, so he still didn’t know where they were but they were hand in hand so he really didn’t care. 

“Oh, before we go in,” Stiles said, taking out his phone. “Take a picture with me.” Derek did, throwing up a peace sign with his arm draped over Stiles’ shoulder. “This is going on Twitter,” Stiles stated as he posted it with the caption ‘found him!’ along with some emojis. 

“Did you put out a bolo on me?” Derek asked, smirking. 

“Maybe,” Stiles said, side-eyeing him. 

Stiles stayed to watch Derek’s entire set, not at all surprised when Lydia showed up looking frazzled. 

“What happened to you coming to us?” She asked. 

Wide-eyed, Stiles realized he’d forgotten about that as soon as he found Derek. “Shit, I’m sorry Lydia.”

“I thought you got trampled in the crowd,” Lydia said, checking him over, poking his bruise.

“Ow!” Stiles said, rubbing it and scowling. “That wasn’t necessary.” 

“Oh, I think it was. We almost called security to try and find you like a lost kid at a grocery store.”   
“I’m sorry,” Stiles said again. “I forgot.”

“Right, well, don’t make me put one of those child harnesses on you, because I will.” 

“Kinky,” Stiles said, laughing. Lydia rolled her eyes at him, crossing her arms. She was short, but fierce as hell and you didn’t mess with her. 

-

Derek was leaving in the morning to go back on tour, so as soon as Blue Pagan’s set was over, he and Stiles peaced out. Normally, if the festival wasn’t in New York, they would have stayed and hung out and networked their asses off while getting drunk, but neither of them were in the mood. 

They went to Stiles’, since Derek’s apartment was a wreck because he’d barely been home lately. Stiles fucked Derek in the shower before they crawled into bed, despite it not being late at all. 

“We should order in.”

“I don’t plan on putting pants on until tomorrow,” Stiles stated. 

“A fine goal,” Derek said easily, a silence falling between them. “You know I didn’t mean to leave you today.”

“I know,” Stiles said, his finger trailing down Derek’s bicep. He attempted a smile. He sighed afterwards, his head resting on his pillow as he looked up at the ceiling. “It’s just-- this consuming thing,” Stiles said, making a hand gesture. “I want to be with you whenever possible, and since we’re in the same place, I just want you by my side and it’s so stupid to be mad about something like that because I’m selfish because I want you all to myself.” 

“I want you all to myself, too,” Derek whispered, kissing Stiles’ shoulder. “Our tour is almost over.” 

“I’m going back on the road,” Stiles groaned. “This is a never ending pile of shit. Touring won’t ever stop, we’re always going to be just missing each other or always just have two days or less to be together. Our relationship is 99 percent being away from each other,” Stiles mumbled. 

“I know,” Derek said, kissing Stiles’ forehead. “But I think the time we have together is worth it. You’re worth it.” 

“Am I? Am I really worth it, because fuck,” Stiles said, sitting up. “This is so hard, knowing that you’re leaving again. I know I’ll see you at Lollapalooza in a few weeks, but it’s not the same. Festivals are amazing and horrible all at once because it gives me this illusion that I can spend time with you. I don’t want to fight-- I don’t want to talk about this.” 

“You brought it up, so I think you do want to talk about it,” Derek said as he joined Stiles in sitting up. “We talk daily, we FaceTime every day. The only thing is we can only have sex when we are together, and that’s okay with me,” Derek admitted. “It took some getting used to, believe me, but you’re worth it.” 

“I wish we could have sex more often,” Stiles groaned. “But I also hate that when we see each other all we seem to do is fuck, we don’t talk much when we’re together because we both just want to fuck.” 

“We talk,” Derek said, running his thumb across Stiles’ mouth. “We talk all of the time. It’s healthy, I think, the amount of sex we have. What’s really bothering you?”

“Just,” Stiles sighed. “Everything. It’s hard, I just want to sleep beside you and wake up with you next to me. It shouldn’t be a luxury, but it is.” 

“Do you want to take a break?” Derek asked, his brow furrowed. 

Stiles looked absolutely terrified. “What? No!” 

“I had to ask,” Derek said, kissing his shoulder once more. “I don’t want that, I’ll take whatever part of you I can, any amount of time that I can spend with you I look forward to. I wish it could be more, Stiles, but I don’t complain about our time spent together.”

“I’m greedy,” Stiles said. “I always want more of you than I can have.”

“You have all of me,” Derek said, kissing Stiles on the lips. 

-

It poured at Bonaroo. Muddy and miserable, Stiles was also sick with a stomach bug. His goal for their set was to not have to run off stage in the middle of a song to get sick. It had been their worst show to date, because there had also been a power outage in the middle of one of their songs. Stiles apologized profusely, but the crowd was accommodating and forgiving. Afterwards, Stiles slept the entire bus ride back to New York. 

Chicago was one of Stiles’ favorite cities. They had a big fan base there, since it had been one of the cities that they had been visiting for years prior to being signed. Stiles loved the venues, walking around the city, and the pizza. 

They did the normal interview circuit, early morning the day of their set at Lollapalooza, a photoshoot for a magazine since they were in town, then pizza for lunch before the gig. Stiles was in a good mood, despite waking up at 5:30 that morning. He had pizza, he was wearing his favorite pair of jeans, and he’d get to see Derek in a matter of hours. Blue Pagan weren’t playing on the same day as M&B, but Stiles was sticking around for a few days so he could see the Blue Pagan set and spend as much time as possible with Derek. 

He and Derek promised each other that they would find more time to see each other, even if it meant flying to see each other if they had more than one day off at the same time. It made Stiles feel better, knowing that Derek felt the same way as he did and wanted to try harder. Not that they hadn’t been trying, but the pressure of the media of putting their relationship on a pedestal was getting to him. 

Being a poster couple for the gay community was a lot of pressure. There was a joke by an interviewer the week before about how he and Derek couldn’t ever break up because everyone would flip out. Stiles’ reaction was simply that he couldn’t think about his relationship in relation to media, because that was recipe for disaster. He felt walls going up around him, though he didn’t regret sharing the fact that he was with Derek with the media, he did feel like they had become bigger than they really should be. 

He and Derek were people, and he felt like sometimes people forgot that. 

Backstage, Stiles played his DS to pass the time. Scott, too, sat beside him with his own. He was having an antisocial day, despite having a good day. It was possible to be both in a good mood and feeling antisocial at the same time. Sometimes he needed to not talk, after spending the morning with a microphone in front of him. The good thing about Scott was that he understood. They didn’t need to talk to spend time together. 

Derek arrived with the rest of Blue Pagan tagging along behind him. There was a reunion of sorts, lots of hugs as the DS’ were forgotten about on the couch as everyone embraced.

“I miss you guys,” Erica said, cupping Stiles’ cheeks. “We should tour together again.” 

“Just say when,” Scott said with a laugh. Stiles wanted to scream that was what he wanted all along, but he held back. “We’d love that.”

“Maybe some day,” Derek said, finally putting his arms around Stiles. Stiles kissed him, slipping his hand in Derek’s back pocket. There was a condom there. Stiles held back a laugh as he pat Derek’s ass nonchalantly. 

They snuck off as soon as they were able, blocking the bathroom door to fuck. It was rushed, desperate, and Stiles had his jeans dropped to his ankles as Derek fucked him against the bathroom door.

“I love you, I love you,” Stiles said, strung between a litany of lewd noises as Derek came. 

Stiles went on stage with sex hair and his dancing was downright obscene after getting laid. Fucking beforehand gave him a different sort of energy, and the crowd ate it up. With his hand in the air, Stiles belted out his lyrics, swaying along to the music. By the time they got to _Anchor_ , Stiles couldn’t stop smiling. 

-

“I think it would be awesome if we had Stiles come on stage for ,i>Believe,” Erica said as they sat backstage. Stiles and Derek were on the couch with Erica draped across them. “Thoughts?”

“That would be awesome,” Stiles said. “I’d be up for it.”

“The sound operator will hate us,” Derek pointed out. 

“It can’t be that hard,” Erica said with the wave of her hand. “Let’s do it. Special one time event: the Stiles Stilinski of Marked & Bitten comes on stage with Blue Pagan.”

“I haven’t practiced,” Stiles said. “We need to practice.” 

“Sound check already happened,” Derek groaned. 

“Fuck me,” Stiles said. “Come on, Derek, I’m not going out there without practicing.”

“Is that a euphemism that you guys are going to fuck in the bathroom again?” Erica said, sitting up as Stiles got up from the couch. 

“No,” Stiles said. “Well, maybe, but first I gotta not make a fool of myself in front of thousands of people.” 

-

The crowd swelled when Stiles came out on stage with Blue Pagan to sing ,i>Believe. Stiles sang, stepping into the spotlight center stage, bouncing on his heels as he felt the beat of the music. It didn’t take him long to gravitate towards Derek. When there was a break in Derek’s violin solo, he stepped even closer, singing into the microphone as they danced together, swaying to the music. Stiles danced around Derek while he played, spinning and jumping. 

Somehow, the moment was intimate between them despite thousands of people screaming and singing along around them. Stiles only thought about Derek in front of him, his violin in one hand as he put his other on Stiles’ hip while they danced. Stiles sang outwards as Derek pressed his nose against his cheek, their bodies pressed together momentarily. As the song ended, Stiles threw his arms around Derek and kissed him. Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles, violin bow poking Stiles in his side as they continued to kiss. When Stiles pulled away, he couldn’t help but laugh, waving at the audience before running off stage. 

He couldn’t not do it. He wouldn’t take it back, not with the adrenaline he felt coursing through his body afterwards. He didn’t stop grinning as he waited backstage for Derek. If there were any people left who didn’t know that he and Derek were together, now they knew. Stiles felt powerful, and as Derek walked off stage, he knew that Derek felt the same way he did. 

“You are amazing,” Derek said, cupping Stiles’ face with his hands. Erica, too, came over, clapping and just as excited. 

“That was so good,” she said. “We should have been doing that all the festivals, not just the last one.” 

“Hindsight,” Stiles said with a sigh, shaking his head before kissing Derek on the lips. “But that was unbelievable.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hugs and love to all my fellow y&y/olly/neil followers. this week has been rough, and I'm here if you want to talk! <3   
> this is all rather bittersweet.
> 
> otherwise, I hope you enjoy the update! only two more chapters after this.

Being home was a luxury. Derek didn’t really have any other word for it. Everything from his welcome mat, to his couch, the feel of taking a shower in his own bathroom, to sleeping in his own bed. It was familiar, it was his, and he hadn’t seen it in months. 

Derek had a pile of laundry to do, but instead he showered, napped, then made himself a grilled cheese because his sister was amazing and ordered groceries for him and put them away after they’d been delivered. He put tomato in his grilled cheese, freshly cut and delicious. The only thing that could make it better was if Stiles was there to steal a bite of it, laughing as he grabbed the sandwich from Derek’s hand.

Stiles, though, was thousands of miles away on a stage in Europe. 

Derek didn’t want to think about it, or the fact that since _the kiss_ they had caught the eye of gossip magazines. Before that, they’d stayed under the radar, but now it felt like daily that his name was being linked to on Twitter via some bullshit article about he and Stiles’ relationship and ‘insider info’. It was getting old, fast. 

Stiles had it worse than Derek, though, being constantly bombarded whenever he was online with questions about he and Derek’s relationship that frankly shouldn’t be asked. Stiles had called Derek late one night, affronted that people thought that Stiles only bottomed. 

“Why the fuck would they think that?” Stiles had asked. “They called me a power bottom.”

“Well,” Derek said. “They aren’t wrong.”

“That’s besides the point,” Stiles hissed. “I’m not-- I’m not, we’re not-- next chance I get I’m throwing a line about hating stereotypes I swear to god.”

“You tell em’,” Derek said, knowing that Stiles was riled up for some other reason that probably had nothing to do with being a power bottom or not. 

“Scott ate all my fucking peanut butter,” Stiles said. “I’m gonna kill him.” 

“Hiding a body on the road is hard,” Derek pointed out. 

“You’re right. I’m patient,” Stiles grumbled. 

But now, being home, Derek was surprised to find talk of he and Stiles was just as apparent. Somehow he thought that home meant that he would get a reprieve of the spotlight, but it was New York, so that wasn’t really an option. 

He went to the corner store, astounded to find some shitty weekly magazine with Stiles’ face plastered across the front and the words ‘cheating’ in bold red letters. Derek turned it around before buying bread so no one could see it. 

What a crock of shit. 

Erica dragged Derek out so he didn’t hide away up in his apartment in solitude. They went to an art walk, a beer crawl, and the opening of a boutique that seemed to be made for Erica’s style. With her arm in Derek’s, they had their pictures taken with a backdrop before being handed flutes of champagne. 

Derek had three. 

He didn’t get drunk, but buzzed enough to have a good time considering he was surrounded by hipster clothes galore that weren’t his style at all. 

The next night, he’d been invited to a Stereogum party. He went solo, wearing his leather jacket and favorite pair of dark jeans that were actually the most comfortable jeans in the world. With it, he wore one of Stiles’ shirts; it was a little tighter on him than his own shirts and it seemed fitting for the occasion. 

“Derek,” an interviewer called out, getting his attention after he paused for pictures. He stepped forward, giving them a smile. “How’s the break going?”

“Good, actually,” Derek said, running his fingers through his hair. “I’ve been in town a few days and it always feels good to come home.” 

“No place like New York,” they said with a laugh. 

“Exactly,” Derek said, scratching at his cheek, the stubble harsh. He always fidgeted in front of a camera. 

“Can you tell us any news about the next single?”

“ _Believe_ is going to be the next single, should be coming out soon,” Derek said. 

“Is that the song that Stiles Stilinski's featured on for the album?” It was a nice segue, Derek gave her that much. 

“It is,” Derek said, preparing for what was next. 

“There’s been some nasty rumors lately that the two of you have split. Can you confirm or deny that for us?” 

Derek’s eyes widened, surprised for a moment about the accusation. “I never really thought I’d be asked that, considering everything is fine. He’s on tour, I just got back, we’re busy... but we’re still together. But that isn’t really for the public, we’re together for us.”

“Thanks for setting the rumor straight,” they said before Derek made his way down the line of interviewers before he entered the party. 

-

“They thought we broke up,” Stiles said for the third time. “Because, let me get this straight, ‘we hadn’t talked on social media lately’.”

“Yeah pretty much,” Derek said. It was three in the morning and he’d just gotten home. Stiles had just woke up for a day of interviews in Germany. 

“Well, I haven’t tweeted in a week,” Stiles said, groaning. “I’m just not in the mood to deal with it all right now.” 

“So then don’t. Take a step back from it, it’s fucking stressful, and not necessary besides updating the band Twitter. Even then, you don’t need to tweet every day.”

“It’s too early for this, there isn’t enough coffee right now in my system. I need an IV drip.”

“Just what you need: more caffeine.” 

“It’s the nectar of the gods, Derek. But anyway: no Twitter until I’m in the right headspace. I’ve been bombarded with propositions for sex and also pictures of us having sex. Sex pictures!"

“That’s a line that shouldn’t be crossed,” Derek grumbled as he sat down on the bed, taking off his shoes. He was falling asleep, but didn’t want to hang up the phone. “Taking a step back will be good. We’re in a relationship, it has nothing to do with the public perception of us.”

“You’re right,” Stiles said, sighing. “Fuck, I’ve got to go. Lydia is glaring at me.” 

“Okay, love you,” Derek said. 

“Sleep well, call me when you wake up.”

“Will do.”

“Love you,” Stiles said before he hung up. Derek managed to turn off the light before he passed out. 

-  
Derek flew to Paris. 

Marked & Bitten had a few days off between legs of their tour in Europe, so he and Stiles took advantage of the mini break by booking a vacation. He was a little jet lagged, but when he checked into the hotel, he found himself wide awake. 

They had three days before Stiles had to be back with the band, three days of sightseeing and being together. Well, there might be sightseeing, there might not be. That depended on Stiles and if he wanted to leave the suite or not. 

Derek showered while he waited, washing the feel of airplane off as well as preparing himself for Stiles. With a towel wrapped around his waist and water dripping down his body, he heard the suite door open from the bathroom. His heart sped up as he walked out into the open room. Stiles’ arms were around him within seconds, his hair all Derek could see as Stiles buried his face against his shoulder. 

“Oh my god,” Stiles said. “I missed looking at you.” Derek laughed, swaying back and forth for a moment before kissing Stiles. 

“Right back at you,” Derek said. “You’re earlier than you said you’d be.”

“Lydia let me leave,” Stiles said. “She said I was in a mood and that I might as well go. So I did.” 

“Wise woman,” Derek joked, kissing Stiles again. Stiles ran his fingers through Derek’s wet hair, grinning against his lips. “Now, let’s get you naked.”

“No complaints there.” 

Derek made a big ordeal of it, stripping Stiles down one article of clothing at a time, kissing his lips, his chin, his shoulder, licking a nipple once his shirt was off, until he dropped to his knees, taking off Stiles’ shoes, socks, then slipped his jeans down his thighs. Derek’s hands roamed up and down Stiles’ thighs, taking his time before mouthing at the fabric of his underwear. Stiles moaned as Derek sucked, then hooked his fingers in the elastic of his boxer briefs, slowly sliding them down, revealing Stiles’ erection. Derek took it into his mouth, licking and sucking messily, his eyes looking upwards towards Stiles. 

Fuck, he’d missed him. He missed his eyes, his smile, the feel of his fingers in his hair, the mere scent of him. As Derek took Stiles into his mouth, he inhaled at the base of his cock, breathing him in. It was intoxicating, and as Stiles moved his hips, fucking into Derek’s mouth, he pulled back, coughing but going back for more. Stiles whined, yanking on Derek’s hair. 

“I want-- I want to fucking blow you,” Stiles said. Derek was on his feet once more, kissing Stiles as they made their way to the bed. Stiles tugged off Derek’s towel, discarding it onto the floor before they both fell into the bed. Stiles maneuvered himself so that he could get to Derek’s cock while Derek could get to his, lying on his side. Derek took the cue well, his mouth licking at Stiles’ cock before taking it back into his mouth as Stiles did the same to him. 

“I’m gonna come,” Derek said, which made Stiles suck harder, stroke him faster. Stiles swallowed, which he normally didn’t do. Derek groaned as Stiles sat up, reaching for Derek’s neck and pulling him close, kissing him with the taste of Derek’s come on his tongue. Derek jacked Stiles off as they kissed, sending Stiles over the edge himself. Stiles shook in Derek’s arms, his chest heaving as he came by Derek’s hand. 

“Fuck,” Stiles said, licking his lips. “Fuck, that felt amazing.” 

“Welcome to Paris,” Derek said with a smirk.

“All I can think of right now are quotes from Moulin Rouge,” Stiles said with a sigh. “I would say I want to go to Montmarte, but what I really mean is I want to stay in bed.” 

“We can go tomorrow, after you fuck me,” Derek said, his nose trailing across Stiles’ bare shoulder. 

“That sounds like a plan,” Stiles said, humming contentedly. “We have time to do what we want, I could have you any way I wanted.” 

“It sounds like you have a plan,” Derek said. 

“The plan includes a lot of lube and condoms,” Stiles said. “I think you’ll enjoy it.” 

“I have no doubt about that,” Derek laughed. 

“Stay here,” Stiles said, getting off the bed and heading over to his bag that he’d left by the door. Derek watched him go through it until he found his toiletries bag that held his condoms and lube. Stiles deposited them onto the bed beside Derek. “On your knees.” 

“Demanding,” Derek said, though moved as Stiles asked. 

Stiles took his time opening Derek up with his fingers, fucking him slowly with them. Derek didn’t need that much preparation, but it wasn’t just about that, it was about them taking their time, enjoying the feeling of not having a clock counting down the time they had just yet. This was time for them, with no pressure to be quick or worry that they would be walked in on. There wasn’t anything stopping Stiles from fucking Derek with his fingers all night. Well, nothing but Derek begging for Stiles to fuck him. 

Which Stiles did. 

With his feet on the floor and hands on Derek’s waist, he fucked into Derek who laid on his back at the edge of the bed. He had one hand around his cock and the other covering Stiles’ hand as Stiles fucked him. Derek groaned with each thrust, his toes curling as Stiles changed the pace of his thrusts. 

Afterwards, they got into the bath. The suite had a garden tub, big enough for the both of them. There were bubbles, which Stiles played with as he sat with his back against Derek’s chest. 

“This was worth it,” Derek said. “Even if I was just here for tonight, it would be worth it.” 

“I’m glad it isn’t just for tonight,” Stiles said, his voice solemn. Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles’ stomach, holding him close, kissing the back of Stiles’ ear. 

“We get to wake up together three times,” Derek pointed out. “Three.”

“Three is a good number,” Stiles said, giving Derek a small smile as he turned his head so they could kiss. 

After they got out of the bath Derek fucked Stiles while they laid in bed, long and slow as they spooned each other, Stiles letting out choked sobs, his hands moving Derek’s as he wanted, from his neck to his nipples, his thighs. Stiles couldn’t seem to get enough of Derek’s touch and Derek couldn’t deny him. 

When Derek eventually woke up with Stiles’ mouth around his cock. It took him a while to realize what was happening, but as he started to wake up he began carding his fingers through Stiles’ bed hair. His body ached, not used to the marathon sex as he stretched while Stiles blew him. When he came this time, Stiles pulled back, Derek making a mess of his own chest. Stiles sat beside him, his mouth thoroughly fucked, red and swollen. He wiped at it, and Derek couldn’t help but stare at him. In the morning light he looked ethereal in a way, pale with his moles that scattered across his chest standing out, his hair a mess, his lips perfectly plump after blowing him. Stiles grinned at him, shoving at Derek’s thigh. 

“What?” Stiles asked. 

“Can’t stop looking at you,” Derek said, linking his fingers with Stiles’, kissing his knuckles. 

“I love you,” Stiles said. 

“I love you, too.” 

-

They managed to shower and get dressed so they could go out in search for food. Stiles walked out ahead of Derek, turning back to glance at him as they did the most touristy of tourist things. They went to Montmarte, toured the catacombs, and ate way too much food. It was the closest that they had ever had to a real date. 

Derek didn’t want it to end. They did as much as they could around Paris, considering they spent a lot of time in their hotel room. It was addicting, waking up beside Stiles, able to touch him, to look at him as he slept. Derek ached, because he knew it would be short lived. 

By the third morning hit, Derek felt sadness seeping in, and he knew that Stiles was feeling it as well when he woke up, blinking as Derek watched him. 

“Don’t be Edward Cullen,” Stiles mumbled, though he smiled as he stretched out beside Derek. 

“I also took your picture.”

“So creepy,” Stiles laughed, draping his arm across Derek’s stomach as he rest his head on Derek’s chest. They laid there in silence, the two of them dreading their goodbyes. “It’s never ending.”

“I could keep going forever,” Derek said, placing his hand on Stiles’ back. “I’ll travel wherever to see you, you know that.” Stiles stayed silent. “It’s the hardest part, saying goodbye.” 

“I hate it,” Stiles said, turning so that he faced Derek, his body curled up with his knees tucked up against his chest. They were naked, the sheets strewn around them, but the moment wasn’t sexual, it was vulnerable and Derek had to look away from Stiles, up towards the ceiling to stop tears from forming because Stiles looked heartbroken. “I hate waking up without you, I hate not being able to touch you. It’s not the same when Scott hugs me, or Allison, or even Kira. It’s just not.” 

“I know,” Derek said. “But we can do this.” 

“It won’t stop,” Stiles whispered. “There’s always going to be a tour.” 

“There’s always going to be flights,” Derek said. “Maybe we can work out a tour together.” Stiles laughed as he sat up, wiping at his eyes. “I’m serious.” 

“I wish,” Stiles said with a sigh. He bent over, kissing Derek on the lips before he got out of bed. “Come on, let’s fuck in the shower before I have to go.” 

-

The flight back to New York was the worst experience of Derek’s life. Not only had saying goodbye to Stiles completely drained him, but they’d overbooked first class and he’d been the last to arrive, so he was pushed back into coach. He should have taken the next flight, but he wanted to be home. 

Of course, he was next to a baby with an earache. 

By the time they landed, his emotions were frayed. His apartment was lonely, empty and unforgiving in the fact that Stiles wasn’t there; he wasn’t anywhere. They were like ghosts, barely there. It was hard for him to handle just then, the entire situation of it all. It hurt, deep down, knowing that Stiles was desolate, that Derek couldn’t do anything about it. 

Derek slept for sixteen hours. 

The only reason he got out of bed was because they had band practice. He’d showered, though it was difficult to. He hadn’t shaved in over a week and he was reaching beard territory quickly. It was as if a fog had been cast around him, making it hard to think clearly or see things as he knew them truly to be. There was no logic in it, he knew, that he lived solely for Stiles’ phone calls. He couldn’t help it. 

Stiles’ words played over and over in his head. ‘It’s never ending.’ The words haunted him. Stiles called twice, some days. Those were Derek’s favorites. He liked when Stiles laughed at something Scott said in the background, or when he told Derek a story of something that happened. Derek counted down the days that he’d see Stiles again. 

In the past, it felt like his life picked back up when he was in New York, seeing friends and family, but this time he didn’t feel that way. It became harder for Erica to get him out of the apartment. Derek could feel a divide happening within him, but found it difficult to do anything about it. 

“Derek,” Erica said. Her hands were on her hips as she stood over him. He was on the couch, in a pair of sweatpants, Stiles’ sweat pants. 

“What?” Derek asked. 

“You reek,” Erica said. “Get dressed. We are going out.”

“No,” Derek stated.

“Yes, come on. The movies. You don’t even need to talk. You can buy popcorn and I’ll eat it and you’ll be a human being again it will be great.” 

Derek let out a long, suffering sigh, but got up. The movie was actually good, and helped him forget for a moment that he had barely left the apartment all week besides band practice. After, Derek let Erica drag him to a bar with the rest of the band.

The next morning, Derek felt better. His head was a little clearer, and after making his bed and shaving, it was like his mind did a minor reset. He called Stiles, left a message when he didn’t answer, then went about cleaning out his fridge. After that, he cleaned his apartment, scrubbed his bathroom, and did laundry. He felt better. 

Sometimes it took baby steps, little things added up in his mind. When Stiles called him back, Derek found himself in a good mood for the first time since he got back from Paris; Stiles noticed.

-

“You’re kidding me,” Stiles said as he sat beside Derek, his hands spread out on the table in front of them. They were at a meeting with Blue Pagan and Marked & Bitten, with paperwork between them. Stiles looked at Derek, silently asking him if he knew.

Derek hadn’t. 

“Is this real?” Stiles asked, looking at Scott. 

“Yep,” Scott said, grinning. 

Derek looked down at the document: a co-headlining tour with their two bands, cross country. Months together. Derek covered his mouth with his hand as he closed his eyes. Boyd clapped him on the back, which didn’t help. 

Beside him, Stiles externally flipped out while Derek sat there in silence. They were going on tour together; they were going to be together. 

“I can’t believe this,” Stiles said, turning towards Derek. “Derek,” Stiles said, placing his hand on the back of Derek’s neck. 

“Fuck,” Derek said as he took a deep breath, reigning in his emotions. Stiles was grinning and Derek was the one who looked like he was about to have a breakdown. “This is so amazing.” 

It wasn’t until months from now, with the dates to be announced soon, but that didn’t matter if it was next month or next year, because Derek had months with Stiles to look forward to.

“These are all arenas,” Stiles stated, looking through the dates. His hand was on Derek’s thigh beneath the table, squeezing it. Derek couldn’t concentrate on the dates, or much of anything except his mind screaming about the fact that they would be touring together. 

“They are,” Lydia said, smirking. “You’ve been selling out all your shows, and with both bands on the docket we think it will sell well.” 

“Arenas are huge.” 

“You’re picking up momentum, and Blue Pagan is pretty consistent in their ticket sales. Congratulations,” Lydia said to Derek and Stiles. “And you're welcome.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> only one chapter left after this one! ahhhhhh!
> 
> the lovely apitnobaka drew some Stiles & Derek from this 'verse! It can be seen [here](http://attoliancrown.tumblr.com/post/134947300406/apitnobaka-dont-you-hear-that-rhythm-by) so leave her some love and reblogs <3 <3 <3

Sometimes Stiles felt like he was living life like a broken record, repeating the same thing over and over, hoping that someone would come and take him away from the monotony. Some days, he could handle the repetitive questions, the preening that people did as they doted on him before interviews, how each day he looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize himself. 

It wasn’t one of those days. His temper was a hair trigger, his emotions completely shot because he hadn’t seen Derek in weeks, hadn’t spoken to him in two days because Blue Pagan was in Japan and the time difference was a killer. In general, Stiles was okay the first week of being separated from Derek, he felt like he could handle it this time, that it would be easier. The second week was harder as Derek’s scent faded from the clothes that they exchanged. The third, well, the third was the worst. 

Stiles wasn’t in the mood for personal questions, wasn’t in the mood for anything, really, but he sat there at the ass crack of dawn on a radio show in LA with a smile on his face, faked so well that they had no idea that he was mentally screaming when every single question they asked was unoriginal and the same thing he’d said countless times before and yet they somehow expected him to say something different. 

“It was just announced a few weeks back that you guys are going on tour with Blue Pagan,” the interviewer asked. He was way too chipper for the hour, and Stiles found himself swaying back and forth in his seat, pushing himself with his feet as they hooked in the swivel chair. He rubbed his eye, holding back a sigh. “That has to be exciting for you, being able to tour with your boyfriend.” 

Stiles wanted to set fire to everything. 

“Super exciting,” he said into the microphone without elaborating. There was a pause, but the interviewer recovered quickly. 

“How difficult is it, not being able to see Derek while on tour?” He asked. 

Stiles’ jaw clenched. 

“It’s fine,” Scott said with a smirk, winking at Stiles. “We deal, but it’s fine.” Stiles wanted to bless the ground that Scott walked upon, to kiss his feet for making it into a joke. 

“We’re okay with it,” Kira said, adding in a laugh. Stiles smiled, biting his lip. They knew he was in a shit mood. He leaned forward, because even though the interviewer laughed, his eyes were on Stiles: he wanted an answer. 

“It’s difficult, I mean, it’s the same as any long distance relationship. There are ups and downs, but yes, of course it’s hard not being able to see him. It’s alright, though, as you said: we’re going to be touring together soon. It’s definitely something we’ve been looking forward to doing.”

-

Stiles stayed in his hotel room instead of going out and about in LA. It was his third time in LA in less than a year, and all he wanted to do was to be left alone for a few hours. He tried to call Derek, but there was no answer, so he took a bath instead of laying on his bed face down. He stayed in the water longer than he’d intended. It went from hot, steaming, to lukewarm, then almost cold. His fingers were pruned and his movements were sluggish. 

He turned HGTV on once he was out of the tub, Derek’s favorite channel despite the fact that he lived in New York and didn’t remodel anything himself. It made Stiles feel better.   
Stiles’ phone rang and he lunged for it, relief flooding through his body as he saw Derek’s name on the screen.

“Hey,” Stiles said, putting the phone on speaker. 

“Hey,” Derek said, his voice sounding like he just woke up. “I’m sorry I missed your calls.” 

“It’s okay,” Stiles said, curling up on the bed. He was still in his towel, and a bit chilled from the cold bath. “Time differences are hard.” 

“They are,” Derek said, yawning. “It’s five in the morning here, we just got our wake up call.” 

“Five am tomorrow,” Stiles said, looking at the clock. It was noon in LA. Seventeen hour time difference.” 

“The jet lag is going to suck,” Derek pointed out. “I’m going to be a zombie.”

“Well, as long as I can keep you out in the shed, zombie you will be fine with me.”

“Did you just make a Shaun of the Dead reference? Stiles, it’s too early.”

“You’ve got red on you,” Stiles laughed. He fell silent after that. His mind was everywhere, he had so much happening that he didn’t know where to start. “You know I like how we reply at each other on Twitter, right?” 

“Right,” Derek said. “It’s fun.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, picking at his towel. He sighed. “I don’t think-- I think I want to remove our relationship from social media.” 

“If you want,” Derek said. “It’s up to you. I’ll follow your lead. Want to talk about it?” 

“It’s complicated,” Stiles said, running his fingers through his hair. “It was fun, you know, interacting and I love your Instagram comments, and I just-- everything is a lot right now. Someone asked me about us again and I wanted to punch my fist through a wall.” 

“They’re not going to stop asking,” Derek whispered, his voice calm. 

“I understand that it’s new and intriguing but I’m just a fucking guy, and there’s so much-- I don’t want our relationship to be under that sort of pressure when I’m barely holding it together. I can’t pretend everything is fine because of the public eye, that’s complete bullshit.” 

“So then step back from social media.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, taking a long, soothing breath. “As long as we are both on the same page.”

“Maybe have Scott take care of the band’s Twitter for a week, delete the app, see how you feel. You can always redownload it later.” 

“That’s a good idea,” Stiles said. “I think I’ll do that.” 

-

Stiles deleted every single social media app from his phone, but not before going through his Instagram and deleting 75% of his photos spanning over the past three years. At first, it was just a few, but then it was like he couldn’t stop himself from doing it. He deleted one photo after another almost in a daze until he’d gone from over three hundred photos down to one hundred and something. 

Afterwards, after the app was deleted, Stiles hoped he wouldn’t regret doing that. 

-

Life without social media was completely different. He didn’t have that outlet, couldn’t just go on Twitter and scroll for ages. In a way, it was freeing. He was part of the generation addicted to the internet, didn’t really know what to do with himself in the spare few minutes he had every so often when he’d open Instagram to pass the time. 

It felt good, not being smacked in the face with trending topics and bombarded with replies at every turn. Stiles felt calmer; the reprieve was much needed. 

Back in New York, Stiles ran into Cora at a coffee shop. As big as New York was, sometimes it felt small. Cora hugged him, her smile wide. 

“We should get lunch sometime,” she said. “Derek or no.” 

“Sure,” Stiles said, glad that Derek’s family was warming up to him. “Any time.” 

“Hmm,” Cora said, looking him over. “You busy today?” 

“I’m always busy,” Stiles said, though he smiled at her. “But I can get lunch today.” 

“Good, we’ll Snapchat Derek; make him jealous.”

They settled on lunch at a delicious Thai restaurant nearby. It had been ages since Stiles hung out with anyone not in a band or not part of the road crew that traveled with them. Cora did most of the talking, about the impending wedding and classes at NYU. Stiles listened, gladly, so he didn’t have to put a word in edgewise. It wasn’t until their plates were taken away that Cora brought up Stiles’ social media absence. 

“You haven’t updated Instagram in more than a week,” Cora said, with no clue of Stiles’ reasoning. Stiles’ nerves reared to the forefront of his mind. He scratched at his chin, where there was a bit of stubble growing out of laziness more than anything. “It’s like you dropped off the face of the planet.” 

“Is it that obvious?” Stiles asked. 

“Yes,” Cora stated. “You updated so frequently, is everything okay?”

“I’m on a social media sabbatical,” Stiles said, taking the check, not letting Cora pay a cent, which she didn’t object. 

“That sounds very freeing.”

“So far it is,” Stiles said as he signed the check, putting away his debit card. “I can’t get away from life, but I can get away from the internet.” 

“Truer words were never spoken,” Cora said. 

-

Stiles chose Hawaii for his vacation destination. He could have gone anywhere, but he didn’t want Ibiza, didn’t want Europe. He wanted beaches with blue water and relaxation. He arrived first, with a few hours to spare before Derek flew in from Australia, straight from tour. 

He went on a hike, enjoying the view. He redownloaded Instagram and Twitter, apologized when someone pointed out their concern about his radio silence, then moved on. His first post back on Instagram was his new transformation: Stiles with his hair buzzed off. 

He promptly got off line afterwards, not wanting to see the reactions that were akin to calling him Britney. It wasn’t like that, but at the same time it was. He felt like he was a marionette, being pulled every which way without any control of his life. He buzzed his hair because he was fussed over, and with next to no hair that meant less people would touch him, less for him to worry about. 

He’d pulled a Britney, but at least he didn’t attack a car when he did it. It reminded him of his life before the limelight, back when his mother was alive. It reminded him of freedom and innocence, and he liked that a lot. 

So, on his hike, he took a selfie with a beautiful view in the background, his eyes closed and a smile on his face, hair buzzed short. Instead of a caption, he merely used three emojis: the waves, a tree, and a hiker. He definitely didn’t say where he was. 

The hike took a couple of hours, and by the time he’d gotten back and showered, it was almost time for him to go pick up Derek from the airport. He’d rented a car, because it was easier, parked and waited by baggage claim. He blended into the crowd, wearing shorts, a t-shirt, flip flops, and sunglasses, not as concerned with being spotted as he would be in the city. No one expected to see him, so they weren’t looking for him. They were on the look out for his baggage. 

He jumped out of his skin when he felt arms wrap around him, covering his mouth with his hand so he wouldn’t scream out in public. Derek had found him, kissing the back of his head, his hand running over Stiles’ buzz cut. 

“You look great,” Derek said, his grin wide. 

Stiles flung his arms around Derek, not wanting to let go of him. “You look like shit,” Stiles said, smirking before kissing Derek on the lips. 

“Ten hour flights do that to you,” Derek said. “And it’s late.” 

“I flew in, too, but my schedule isn’t-- okay, it’s just as fucked up as yours is here, but I’m so awake and exhausted at the same time.”

“I can’t wait to fall into bed with you,” Derek said. “I could sleep for a week.”

“Let’s hope you don’t, we don’t want to spoil the entire vacation.”

“No, we don’t want to do that.”

-

They didn’t sleep until it was a decent time to, wanting to reset their body clocks as best they could. Derek showered, they found food, had an entire bottle of wine, then walked along the beach until they caved and went back to their room, fucking before falling asleep. 

“We did it,” Stiles said, laying beside Derek with his head cradled in his arms. 

“We survived the tour of death,” Derek murmured, satiated. “Vacation and then a month in New York uninterrupted.”

“Thank god,” Stiles said, his eyes raking up and down Derek’s body. He couldn’t get enough of him. “You’ll be sick of me.”

“Doubtful,” Derek said, his hand on Stiles’ hip. 

“I’m going to cling to you like a spider monkey.”

“I would be disappointed if you didn’t.” 

-

They did everything that they dreamed of doing. They took surfing lessons, went snorkeling, swam with dolphins, bungee jumped together, went on a day hike with a guide, spent a day by the beach day drinking, even played golf even though neither of them cared for the sport. 

The marathon sex at night, though, was Stiles’ favorite part. 

“Do people who see each other every day fuck like this?” Stiles asked. They were in the bathroom, brushing their teeth before bed. “Or is it because we only get to see each other in short bursts that we have the best sex?” 

“I like to think that if we saw each other all the time, we’d still have good sex. It’s in the chemistry.”

“Sure, blame science for our sex lives,” Stiles said, spitting his toothpaste into the sink, watching it disappear down the drain. 

“I guess we’ll find out when we go on tour together and see each other every day.” 

“We’ll get to sleep next to each other whenever we are in a hotel.”

“Always look on the brightside of life,” Derek sang. Stiles rolled his eyes, but kissed Derek, because anyone who randomly sang Monty Python was a keeper in his book. 

-

They flew back to the mainland together, to LA then to New York. It was long, exhausting, and Stiles hated the feel of airport that hung on him until he showered. His mind was on constant vigilance concerning Derek. He’d been trained that he only saw Derek a handful of days at a time before they’d be separated, but trying to remember that this time Derek wasn’t leaving, or he wasn’t the one going anywhere was difficult. 

He had to untrain himself, in a way, not to wake up believing that Derek wouldn’t be there beside him. If he woke up in the middle of the night to an empty bed because Derek had gotten up to use the bathroom, Stiles panicked until he was able to rationalize that Derek would come back. Derek, too, seemed to be going through the same thing Stiles was. They’d fucked each other up, somehow, with their love. It wasn’t a perfect love, full of downs when they couldn’t see each other, but neither of them would give up the time that they did have together. Both of them knew that, deep down, they would be miserable without each other. 

So somehow, Stiles built his daily life around Derek being there. They went running together, did laundry at the same time, watched Netflix together with or without sex involved, and they cooked for each other. Sometimes, mostly when Stiles cooked, they ended up ordering in.

They were a week out from the start of tour when Stiles got the call from California; his dad had been hurt. 

“Okay,” Stiles said into his phone. He’d sat down as soon as he’d answered the call from the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s department, like he knew that the call wouldn’t be a happy one. Out of his periphery, Stiles knew that Derek was nearby, but his vision was already going fuzzy as his chest constricted. 

All Stiles could remember from the phone call were the words ‘gunshot wound’, ‘surgery’, and ‘intensive care’. His phone remained in his hand long after the phone call as Derek moved around the room, packing and calling Lydia. Stiles sat, shell shocked, because what else was he supposed to do? He sat frozen while Derek knelt in front of him, his hand on Stiles’ knee. 

“Book us two tickets, please,” Derek said, his eyes on Stiles’. “First flight out, we’ll get to LaGuardia as soon as I finish packing.” Stiles wasn’t sure how he was supposed to walk, let alone go through security or do anything as coherent as find his gate. 

“Come on, Stiles,” Derek said, getting Stiles to stand. He cupped Stiles’ face with his hands, looking him in the eye. “He’ll be okay.” 

“I should have gone home for his birthday,” Stiles mumbled. “Or mine.”

“You couldn’t have, you were touring.”

“I’m always touring,” Stiles said, covering his face with his hand. “I should have been there--”

“You couldn’t have stopped this from happening,” Derek stated. “But you can be there for him now.” 

They caught a cab to LaGuardia, then made their way through security after checking in. They barely made the flight, the last ones on the plane and everything. Derek held Stiles’ hand for most of the flight, let him sleep on his shoulder until they descended into California. 

“You haven’t even met him yet,” Stiles said as they rented a car to drive to Beacon Hills from Sacramento. 

“You can introduce me now,” Derek said, signing his name and taking the keys to a mid-sized Sedan. “Come on.” 

Stiles didn’t feel much like talking as they drove, Derek relying on GPS instead of trusting Stiles to tell them where they were going. They went straight to the hospital; Stiles getting out of the car before it was even in park. 

If Derek was surprised to know that Stiles knew the nurse, he didn’t let on while she guided them towards an individual room. 

“Thanks, Melissa,” Stiles said, giving her a hug and a kiss before taking Derek’s hand and leading him into the room. Stiles hated seeing his father connected to so many machines. He looked so fragile, sleeping there while the heart monitor beeped. Stiles was afraid to touch him, but he covered his father’s hand with his own as gently as possible. 

“Ah, Mr. Stilinski,” the doctor said as they entered the room. Stiles turned to look at him, finding it difficult to take his gaze away from his father. “He’s stable, now, but after spending almost seven hours in surgery, he’s going to be asleep while he recovers.”

“Okay,” Stiles said. 

“Did they explain to you what happened?” 

“Yes,” Stiles heard himself say. He didn’t think he could stomach someone telling him again about the call that came in, his father going out alone. It shouldn’t have happened. Stiles cleared his throat. “Can I stay--”

“I think it would be best if we called you when he wakes up, sticking to visiting hours for a few days.” Stiles nodded numbly. Derek’s hand on him helped ground him as the doctor lead them back out of the private room. 

“Melissa will call you if anything changes.”

-

At Stiles’ childhood home, he showed Derek his room, untouched since he left it years prior except to be dusted. It was a relic of another time, a younger Stiles who seemed so far from the person he’d become. They laid down on Stiles’ bed, silently holding each other until the doorbell rang. 

“What the fuck,” Stiles said, scowling where he lay tucked up against Derek. “I don’t want to deal with this right now.”

“Who is it?” Derek asked, his voice groggy like he’d been asleep. Stiles groaned as he got out of the bed, taking the stairs two at a time until he slid in his socks to the door, not even bothering to look at the peep hole. 

“Stiles,” a nosy neighbor named Sheila said. “I thought I saw a car I didn’t recognize.” 

“Sheila,” Stiles said, leaning on the doorframe. “How good of you to stop by.”

“It’s been awhile since you’ve been home, dear.”

“Life’s kept me busy on the east coast,” Stiles said. Behind him, he heard Derek walking down the stairs. “What can I do for you?”

“Well, I heard about what happened to your father,” Stiles’ fist clenched out of view. “I want to stop by to see if you needed anything.” 

“Nothing, thank you--”

“Who’s this handsome man?” Sheila asked, spotting Derek over Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles’ face fell. It wasn’t the time, nor the place for this. 

“Sheila, Mrs. Kramer, I appreciate you stopping by, but my father is still in the ICU. I just flew in from New York, and I was resting before going to the hospital later.” Sheila wasn’t amused, but Stiles thought she was being the rude one. She looked at Derek again, a look of dawning recognition hitting her like a mack truck. 

Stiles never came out to his neighborhood, but if they listened to the radio or read gossip magazines they’d know. It wasn’t his job to come out to anyone and everyone. Her look of judgement was enough that he shut the door in her face. He bolted the door, turning towards Derek, who was looking at the pictures hanging on the wall. 

“First grade, I had no front teeth,” Stiles pointed out the picture on the mantlepiece. 

“Attractive, teeth or no,” Derek joked. Stiles pushed him, then gripped his shirt in his fist, pulling him in for a kiss. “So, Mrs. Kramer is a nosy neighbor?”

“Always has been,” Stiles said. “She probably looks out her curtains all day, hoping something like this would happen.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading not only this, but my other sterek fics. the past 3+ years were pretty damn great. over a million words worth of sterek, and I couldn't have done it without amazing readers & subscribers. <3  
> I'd like to thank my betas again, for beta'ing not only this, but I've basically had the same betas throughout my entire stint in the tw fandom, so thank you guys <3

It took two days for paparazzi to find Stiles. He’d barely been out of the hospital, living on the little sleep that Derek had forced him to do, so the pictures that surfaced of the two of them holding hands outside a coffee shop had them both with bags under their eyes and days worth of scruff. 

Derek didn’t tell Stiles about the pictures. Stiles wasn’t on social media or in contact with anyone as he sat by his father’s side. Derek went and got them food, made Stiles shower, brought him books to lose himself in to pass the time. The tour was only a few days away and they should be in New York practicing, but they were in California hidden in Stiles’ childhood town. Well, Stiles thought they were hidden, and because of his stress levels already, Derek kept it that way. 

Stiles’ dad was allowed to go home on a Wednesday, with Stiles being the one to push him out in a wheelchair. He had refused Derek’s help in getting up, but then caved in, grasping Derek’s hand as he pulled him gently to his feet. 

“Thank you, son,” the sheriff said, wincing as Derek helped him into the car. Stiles sat in the back seat, letting Derek drive. He’d been silent for days, barely speaking. Derek knew that Stiles wanted to scream, could hear him crying at night. Derek knew what was coming: Stiles didn’t want to go on tour. He couldn’t leave his father. 

But he never said it. 

Stiles helped his dad until the moment they had to leave. Melissa, who turned out to be Scott’s mother and the sheriff’s girlfriend, came by once she was off her shift. Stiles’ duffel back was by the door, already packed and ready to go. Stiles had tears in his eyes from exhaustion and the fact that he had to leave his father after being shot. 

“I’ll take care of him,” Melissa said, giving Stiles a tight hug. “You go take care of Scott. You know he needs you.” Stiles didn’t let go of her. “Don’t worry about your dad, he’s in good hands.” Stiles nodded his head, clinging to her as Derek stood by the door. Melissa gave Derek a hug too. “You take care of Stiles, because we both know he doesn’t take care of himself.” 

“I will,” Derek told her before shaking the sheriff’s hand. 

“Dad,” Stiles croaked, kneeling by him where he sat in the recliner. “You just-- tell me if you need me to come home. I know you won’t, but lie to me and say you will.”

“I’ll tell you if you need to come.”

“Thanks,” Stiles said, giving him a smile. He held onto his dad’s hand, not wanting to let go. Derek looked at his watch; the sheriff saw, nodding at Derek. 

“You’ve got to go, kiddo,” he said. “I love you.”

Stiles hugged his dad before standing up, looking Derek in the eye. Derek held his tongue. If Stiles told him right then and there that he wasn’t going on the tour, Derek wouldn’t blame him. He would let him stay, tell their managers they could shove it. Stiles needed a break, but he wouldn’t get one. 

They held hands the entire flight back to New York. They waited for the bus outside LaGuardia, then hopped onto the train, heading into Manhattan. Derek’s apartment smelt stale, but they curled into bed without a care. 

“This is bullshit,” Stiles said. Derek felt like it had been one of the only things he’d said since they left California. 

“I know,” Derek whispered, kissing Stiles’ forehead. Stiles sacrificed so much, but still he gave even more of himself to others, leaving almost nothing left for himself. “I love you.” 

Stiles linked his fingers with Derek’s, playing with them between their bodies. 

“I don’t think I’d survive another tour without you,” Stiles said honestly, his voice broken. “I don’t-- I’m not excited.” 

“I know,” Derek said, because he couldn’t think of anything else. He ran his hand up the side of Stiles’ shaved head, the close cropped hairs fuzzy to the touch. Stiles closed his eyes, sighing as he nuzzled against Derek’s hand. “But I’ll be there.” 

“That’s all that matters.” 

-

The tour bus was loud. They were packed into the back, sitting comfortably on the couch-like cushioned seats and a table in front of them, playing a massive game of Cards Against Humanity. Stiles sat beside him, his legs pulled up onto the cushions underneath him as he laughed with his entire body. 

Derek hadn’t seen him smile so big in such a long time that he couldn’t help but stare at him. 

“My favorite card is ‘Fuck Mountain’,” Stiles said as he added another black card to his stack. He was winning, as far as Derek could tell. 

“It’s a good card,” Isaac said. “Mine is ‘all of this blood’.” They had all of the expansions, because they had a lot of time to kill. Most of their down time on tour was spent playing video games, but they had a long day of travel ahead, so they decided on a card game to pass the time. 

Stiles laughed maniacally when he won two more rounds. 

They napped in the back of the bus, afterward, watching Netflix with Erica, Scott, and Kira. There were two buses, one for each band, but it was so early into the tour that they spent the day on the same bus. Stiles laid between Derek’s legs, his fingers playing with Derek’s while he pretended to watch Longmire on the screen. They went through TV shows fast while on tour, having just finished Daredevil, Orange Is the New Black, and the newest season of Archer. They took turns deciding what they would watch. It was a good system, and two weeks into the tour it seemed to be working well. 

Stiles yawned, closing his eyes as he relaxed with his whole body against Derek. Derek knew that his leg would fall asleep soon, but he didn’t want Stiles to move. The last two weeks had passed by so fast, with them sharing hotel rooms, napping together on the bus, showering together almost daily, and being generally inseparable. 

Erica gagged whenever they kissed, but laughed afterwards. 

Erica fell asleep, along with Stiles, by the time the third episode started. Scott caught Derek’s eye, making sure Stiles was asleep. 

“He is,” Derek whispered. Stiles didn’t stir, his body heavy against him. 

“Is it me, or is he doing better?” Scott asked. “I mean, obviously, you’re here, but I mean--”

“I know what you mean,” Derek said, his voice remaining as quiet as possible. He looked down at Stiles, who looked so peaceful when asleep. “He’s doing better since he hasn’t-- he hasn’t been down.” 

“I’ve been worried,” Scott said. “I didn’t know what to do, or if I could do anything, you know?” 

“I think he just needs a break,” Derek said. “But he knows he won’t get one.” 

“Maybe we should tell Lydia to calm it down.” 

“Maybe,” Derek said, not sure if that would really solve their problems. “But I don’t think he wants the band to stop, but I can’t speak for him. He likes playing live, it’s his life.”

“But you’re his life, too,” Scott said. Derek didn’t know what to make of that, except he felt the same way. Stiles was his life outside of Blue Pagan.   
-

“Thank you, Knoxville!” Stiles said, laughing into the microphone before taking a sip of water. He was dripping in sweat halfway into their set. Derek watched from backstage, like he always did. Marked & Bitten played first, their set broken up into three parts, with slower songs in the middle where Stiles sat down at his keyboard. 

Stiles’ personality on stage was unlike anything else. He radiated happiness, soaking up the audience’s love and adoration. While on stage, it was like Stiles transformed into the person he wanted the world to see. He danced, he sang his heart out, he jumped down from the stage so he could reach out to the crowd, making them scream louder. 

The tour was sold out, save for a few venues, with packed houses and fans screaming for encores upon encores for both bands. Each night, Stiles joined Blue Pagan on stage for _Believe_ as their last song. It was Derek’s favorite part of the set. Though they didn’t kiss on stage again, they danced together, living in the moment. 

Stiles sat down at his keyboard, adjusting his microphone as he slid it in place. He pat his face with a towel looking out into the crowd. Derek was nervous, his fingers twitching with anticipation. 

“I’m about to play something new,” Stiles said, laughing as he caught Derek’s eye. “And I’m going to bring someone special out here to join me.” Derek walked out when Stiles waved him on. “You all know Derek from Blue Pagan, right?” The crowd screamed when they saw not only Derek, but the fact that he had his violin. “Derek and I are going to play something we wrote together,” Stiles said, fidgeting. “This is the first time we’re playing, so be kind.” 

Stiles looked at him before he started to play, just the two of them together, keyboard and violin with Stiles’ voice to accompany the music. Derek closed his eyes as he played, turned towards Stiles instead of out towards the audience. He tapped his foot in time to the music, his eyes opening briefly, seeing the phones up recording it. He knew it would be online by the time the concert was over, but that was why they did it. 

They wrote it together, a collaboration while they traveled; late nights in their hotel rooms and in each other’s arms. Derek thought of Stiles’ body against his, of Stiles’ fingers as he played the keyboard, of his lips against Derek’s skin. 

The song was theirs, and they were sharing it with the world. They might not be on social media together anymore, but that didn’t mean they weren’t _together_. This song encompassed them, their relationship while apart. By the time they finished, the audience swelled, the applause and screams filling the venue as Stiles grinned, looking Derek in the eye. Derek kissed Stiles’ forehead before waving at the audience, letting Stiles move onto his other solo songs before heading into the third part of the set. 

They’d done the song at sound check earlier, but that was nothing like playing it with an audience. Derek came off the stage with adrenaline coursing through his veins, his hands shaking. It was so personal, so close to them, that he hadn’t realized the effect it would have if they shared it. Erica met him off stage, giving him a hug. 

“That was beautiful,” Erica said. “You’re fucking phenomenal, and Stiles is brilliant.” 

Derek agreed, kissing her cheek. Stiles was brilliant, and he couldn’t believe sometimes that Stiles was his, and he was Stiles’. They met on tour and tour was where they belonged. Derek watched the remainder of M&B’s set, meeting Stiles as he ran off stage. They had time before Derek had to be on stage, disappearing for a moment alone. 

Stiles kissed him, cupping his face with his hands as he sucked on Derek’s lower lip. 

“Fuck,” Stiles said, kissing him again. “I love you, fuck.” 

“You were amazing,” Derek said, his nose bumping against Stiles’ cheek. 

“You and that fucking violin,” Stiles said, gritting his teeth as Derek mouthed at his neck, their hands desperately grasping at each other. “Your fucking hands.” 

“Your mouth,” Derek said, kissing him. “Your everything.”

“Fuck you,” Stiles said, laughing as Derek grabbed his ass. Derek could live off of Stiles’ laugh, wanted to keep it with him always, to remember the sound, the way that Stiles’ eyes lit up as he threw his head back in a full bodied laugh.

It was the most beautiful thing to him. 

-

The MTV Music Awards were a big fucking deal. It wasn’t the Grammys, where Blue Pagan had snagged one the year prior, something that Derek still didn’t comprehend. It was still a big deal in the music industry. Best of all, it was in New York smack dab in the middle of the tour. 

Both Blue Pagan and Marked & Bitten flew in the day of on a red eye, because they’d had a show the night before in Louisiana. Derek had three shots of espresso, and he was sure that Stiles had more, considering his legs were bouncing in the limo. At first they were going to arrive with their bands, but in the end they decided to arrive together instead. 

 

Stiles touched his face for the millionth time then bit his thumb nail when he remembered that he was wearing makeup. Makeup was a thing they wore on the red carpet. Of course, it didn’t look like it, except that Stiles’ moles were faded, some weren’t even there in places because of the foundation used to smooth out imperfections. Derek could tell that Stiles didn’t quite look like Stiles, but somehow he was still the same person. It was all an illusion, in a way, to have no imperfections. Derek knew for a fact that Stiles had a red blemish near his nose, that his lips were constantly chapped, that he had bags under his eyes but the Stiles in front of him had none of those things. 

Stiles looked at Derek, questioning him by a raise of his eyebrow. 

“What?” Stiles asked as they inched closer to the red carpet. 

“I love you,” Derek said. Stiles smiled, putting his hand on Derek’s knee. Stiles leaned forward, his eyebrows waggling, lips hovering over his. 

“Want a blow job?” Stiles asked, half joking. Derek laughed, kissing him on the lips. It tasted like the matte whatever the fuck they put on him to make it look like he was some sort of model. Derek knew that he probably tasted the same way. 

“You going to be okay out there?” Derek asked instead of answering the blow job question. His mind was reeling just thinking about Stiles going on the red carpet with post blow job mouth, red and swollen. It hit Derek’s exhibition kink pretty hard, but he had to refrain. 

“Yes,” Stiles said, his hand sliding up and down Derek’s thigh. “Because I’ll be with you.” 

When they stepped out of the limo, the screams were deafening. They weren’t really dressed up, because it was MTV, which didn’t necessarily call for a suit, but as cameras began to snap pictures of him and Stiles, Derek worried for a moment about what he was given to wear: dark wash jeans and a simple deep maroon v-neck while Stiles wore a greyed jeans and his normal layers, though they weren’t really his clothes. They were dressed; they were themselves but not at the same time. They were a copy of themselves, a better version, the version that the public saw. 

After touring with Stiles for a month, they were as much of themselves as they could be, the stressors of the past year slipped away with each passing day, but were still hidden in the back of their minds. For now, they were together, for now, they were happy. 

Derek and Stiles stayed near each other as they made their way down the line of barricaded fans, taking selfies and signing some autographs. By the time they got to the press line, they were hand in hand. Derek felt Stiles squeeze his hand, winking at him. This is what Stiles needed: being in public with Derek in a way that couldn’t be taken back or misconstrued in any way. They didn’t interact on social media anymore, but this was huge. 

“We just finished talking with Marked & Bitten,” the interviewer, a woman, said as she pointed the microphone at Stiles. “We were disappointed that you weren’t with them when they announced the new album. What made you decide to walk out with Derek instead of the band?” 

Derek bristled, Stiles squeezed his hand. 

“Derek and I decided that we wanted to walk the red carpet together, and our bands said that we should do it,” Stiles said with a smile. “It was important to us to be able to walk out together. We’re still in the band,” he laughed. “I’m still going to be on stage with them tonight, and yes, we are officially able to say that a second album will be on it’s way within the new year, once the tour settles down we’re heading back into the studio.” 

“That’s a fast turnaround after the success of your first album.”

“We wanted to keep the momentum going,” Stiles said. “I have to agree that if you slow down, you’re forgotten about and we don’t want that, to be left behind with so many new acts that come and go. We want to stick around for good.” 

They went down the line, having their pictures taken, some when they were hand in hand, a few with Stiles’ arm around Derek’s waist or likewise, some when they merely just stood next to each other, but either way, Derek couldn’t help but feel good. He hadn’t slept, but the fact that no one had been rude outright kept him more at ease. 

“Will ‘Stay’, your collaboration, be on the new album?” An male interviewer asked Stiles. They were almost inside, and this was MTV itself interviewing them now. 

“That’s to be determined,” Stiles said, giving Derek a look. “It’s not M&B’s normal sound, you know? It’s a rather unique song because Derek and I wrote it together.”

“Then do you think you’d ever break off from your bands and make an album together?” 

“Like a side project, or completely break up the bands?” Stiles asked, wide-eyed. “Because I’d hate to break our bands up, honestly. We’re all very close, and I love M&B and the music we make together but, yeah, I’d love to make an album with Derek, but not at the sacrifice of M&B and Blue Pagan.”

“If we did it, then the sound would be similar to ‘Stay’, lowkey, considering we’re a violinist and keyboardist,” Derek laughed. “Perhaps we’d get some synths in?” 

“Look at you, putting ideas in our heads,” Stiles said to the interviewer, but he looked at Derek, grinning. “It’s possible, anything’s possible.” 

During the awards itself, neither Blue Pagan or M&B performed, but Blue Pagan won for Song of the Year, while M&B won for Breakout Band of the Year, along with Album of the Year. Derek watched Stiles on stage, holding the astronaut award in awe, his hand covering his mouth while Scott talked because Stiles had no words. 

Derek knew that Stiles was the one that he’d spend the rest of his life with, no matter what happened, he’d keep fighting to stay with him, to see him as much as possible, touring together or apart, collaborating together or remaining with their own bands. He knew that this was it, watching Stiles on stage with M&B, hugging them as they walked off stage. Stiles’ eyes locked on Derek’s, lifting the award and mouthing the words ‘I love you’. There was no one else like him in the world, and Derek knew that. 

They would be okay.


End file.
